Rogue Magick
by macDhai
Summary: What happens when a sin'dorei rogue escapes the Stockages and SI-7 tries to recruit him? OCs w/some guest appearances. Sex, violence, swearing, guy/guy and guy/girl relationships. Come help edit!
1. Prologue & Escape

First Rough draft as of 3/24/10, hopefully polished into an acceptable, coherent form

copyright 2010 by Rillan macDhai for original characters, otherwise, Blizzard Entertainment/WoW owns the world, setting, etc and the everything else. This is fanfiction, though I'd love to write for Blizzard.

This may not be canon for blood elves, but it's my take on it – Rillan

Oh, and magick with a 'k' is the real, world-altering stuff, magic with only the 'c' is slight-of-hand, card tricks and such

This first part isn't M, but it'll get worse (or better) from here. Will contain original character guy/guy pairing, so if that creeps you out, please don't look. Swearing, violence, blood, character death (still deciding on that one), and all sorts of nasty, messy things. Not for little eyes. Also, I have a mild dyslexia, you may find letters transposed that my spell checker didn't catch.

**Rogue Magick** by Rillan macDhai

Prologue

The magisters look down on us, but they look down on everyone. They scorn us for not having magick, but they are wrong. While our magick is seldom as flashy as theirs, it is part of us in ways the magick they shape in words and items can never be part of them. The shadows are our refuge and our home. They are our magick. We are the rogues of the Sin'dorei.

But no amount of magick will keep you from doing stupid things, especially when you drink. I'd been drinking and playing cards in Booty Bay when the conversation at our table turned to fishing. Somehow that had let to a challenge to catch some weird fish only found in the canals of Stormwind. . .

*** *** ***

Escape

"There," said Firesworn, our mage. "It's done."

It was a portal stone or so we hoped. In the depths of the prison called the Stockades, we had scavenged and traded and killed to find enough pieces to cobble one together. We were a hodgepodge of sin'dorei, orcs, and renegade humans, united mainly by our desire to escape. "No better time than now," he added. "I'll try for Stonard, it's the closest."

I could feel the magick he drew, trying to open the space between, where the mages say everything touches everything else, and you can slide from one place to another in a breath. A shimmer formed and stabilized. It looked like white stone beyond the shimmer-edged window, not the mossy green of Stonard, but it had to be somewhere else. I just threw myself into it, while alarms shrieked through the Stockades like a battle-mad banshee. I landed hard on my knees, half-blinded by the relative glare of a rainy day's light on the bridge stones of Stormwind's inland gate. I wrapped what shadow I could grab around myself as I heard startled exclamations around me. Then I ran.

But there were too many thief catchers manning the bridge and too few shadows. Someone yelled an alarm and portcullises started down. I threw blinding dust behind me, pulled magick to shadowstep, and staggered into a killingyard as the great iron and wood grates slammed behind and before me. I spun, sapping a slow-reacting guard, but already there were others starting for me. I threw the last of my dust, almost as hardfound as the pieces of the portal stone in the damp of the Stockades. A wolf-dog lunged at me, but I left one of my shivs through an eye and kept moving. Someone opened a door to my right and I forced a shadowstep again, feeling things tear in my body and in my head where my magick lives. I kicked the human's legs out from under him and kept running, dodging through the base of the gatehouse and out.

I was the clear, but barely outside the walls in Goldshire and I knew I didn't blind all of them with the dust I threw. I dodged around the side of the gatehouse, hoping to get out of their sight, if only for a moment.

To my surprise, there was a shantytown before me, like the one the humans in Silverpine built at the Greymane, but there was too much open ground between the gatehouse and what shelter it offered. I had spent too much time in prison with too little food and too much cold and damp. My reserves were gone and I couldn't think through the pain in my head to shadowstep again. I wanted to scream in frustration, but my training kicked in and instead I pulled myself into an alcove where they'd stored a pile of junk and broken war engines. I clambered into a niche against the wall where I could see and maybe remain unseen.

It was a child's hiding spot and I knew they would find me and drag me back.

But, even certain my hiding place would fail, I pulled off my striped prison jacket, jamming it way down behind me where it couldn't be seen. There was no time to take off the red Defias shirt I'd won during one of our interminable card games. Of Firesworn and the others, I'd seen and heard nothing and could only pray they'd not been trapped on the bridge. I curled up on myself, shaking uncontrollably now, partly from exhaustion, party, I admit, from fear.

_Be __still_, I told myself, _be not_ _seen._

But my head was pounding in time with my heart and my breathing was as ragged as if I'd run miles. I had no strength to call the shadows around me even to deflect an enemy's sight. The terrible tearing throb behind my eyes suggested perhaps I never would again.

I realized I heard people running, yelling, but no one came to roust me yet. Perhaps I killed the dog, for it hadn't come to sniff me out either.

I gained a little control of my breathing before a human male finally came around the trash pile and looked right at me. My breath caught hard as I started in spite of myself, but I forced myself to stay in place. _Nothing here, you don't see me_. There was nothing to gain by trying to kill him, as no doubt there were more around the edge of the gatehouse, just waiting for me to bolt. Their arrows or steel would almost be welcome, but the desire to live kept me motionless. Just maybe, he wouldn't actually see me if I didn't move.

We stared at each other, this human and I. He was not wearing the armor and tabard of the guards and his beard was grey, but he still looked seasoned and capable. My shadow-in-the-shadows ploy didn't fool him at all, but I saw the moment when uncertainty entered his eyes.

Now he wasn't sure what I was, if I _was_ the person he was hunting. I could tell he expected a burst of cornered violence, not the expressionless commoner's face I learned to use in Silvermoon. Perhaps he thought I was one of the shanty dwellers, squatting in a dry spot from the rain.

"Did you see someone run passed?" he asked, and for once I was grateful for those months in that cold, damp hole, where all there was to do was learn new gambling tricks and the harsh, constanant heavy language of the humans.

"Just you," I said, keeping my voice low, the language not quite as throat hurting as the bits of orcish I know.

"A prisoner escaped," he said. Then, over his shoulder to the others I knew were there, just out of sight, "Check the other side, he may have headed into the farm land."

At least, that's what I think he said, my grasp of the humans' language being mainly for the trading of insults. I waited, knowing the green glow of my eyes had to give me away, even as faint as it had to have been right then, even if nothing else about me confirmed what I really am.

It was so bright there my eyes were watering. After all the time in prison, always being cold, I'd wanted light and warmth so much. To finally be free of those walls, only to find the outside so painful seemed one last slap. I realized my mind was wandering dangerously.

He said something questioning from which I picked out only "Defias."

"Just a red shirt," I replied carefully. It was the truth and I hoped that's what he was asking about. "It's warm."

"A prisoner escaped," he said again. "A Horde spy, a blood elf. He was to be hung tomorrow."

I couldn't help myself; I know I flinched visibly. _Hung, like the Scarlet Crusaders do with the Forsaken they capture, with some of the other things they do to Forsaken done to me as well, most likely. _

I don't know how to explain it to you. You have to be a rogue to really understand, but death by hanging is … well, it's just the ultimate sign of failure. I felt myself start to gather for one final play, my last shiv a comforting weight in my hand, as I angrily demanded from my interrogator, "Did he kill anyone?"

It was perhaps a silly thing to ask. Just being a sin'dorei in Stormwind was enough to damn me, but I found myself remembering the human children who had discovered me in their favorite fishing spot, staring wide-mouthed with their bait cans and fishing poles dropped in surprise. A step through the shadows, some quick knife work, and no one would have known I'd been there until the bodies were found; if they were found, between the rats and the canal monsters.

But I don't kill children. Not while the Alliance hunted us after Kael'thas abandoned us, not through the chaos of rebuilding, not now. _The human, though there was grey in his hair, is probably younger than I am. Does that make him count as a child?_ I wondered, distracted again.

I remembered the mad run through the city once the kids started screaming. I hadn't killed anyone then, either. I might have thrown off the guards, but this city had its own rogues in its shadows. There had been me, running, then me in chains, my head hurting almost as badly as it did now, with nothing to explain how it had happened except the pain. I'd been dragged through the streets to one of their courts, then to the damp cold hell of the prison. All because of a drunken bet and an altogether-too-helpful death knight who'd gotten me to Stormwind Harbor. That, and an itching curiosity to see a city not held up with magicks.

"No," said the human, breaking my abstraction. "Not that I know of. Not even just now, when he could have." His expression turned thoughtful.

"Well, boy, want to earn a few coins? Come help me search for our runaway." He turned and started toward the shantytown.

I blinked in the surprise of it. Was it a trap? Did I really care? I wasn't sure.

The human paused, head cocked as he looked back at me. "Well, lad?"

I slid down from my niche, nearly falling as my legs buckled under me. I forced the darkness at the edges of my vision back; terrified I'd wake up in the cold of the Stockades if I didn't stay aware. Or at the gallows.

The human was beside me somehow, his arms surprisingly strong as he steadied me. His fingers were gentle as he peeled the shiv from my hand. "Don't thrash, lad, you're safe enough."

He lifted me as though I were the lad he called me. "Nothing but skin and bones," he observed. "Keep your eyes closed, just because I've decided you're no threat to Stormwind doesn't mean everyone will agree."

It was then, as helpless as I've ever been, I realized he'd been speaking to me in my own language for some time. Somehow, that relaxed me and I sank against his shoulder, the darkness now a welcome release from the fire throbbing in my head.

End Part One


	2. Sanctuary and Healing

first guest appearances, Blizzard owns them, etc., etc. Suggestion of guy/guy pairing if you have a dirty mind... Ancient Star Trek reference, if you can find it

**Rogue Magick** by Rillan macDhai (Fallfeather's real world alt)

Escape

Elsewhere, and somewhat earlier . . .

"Firesworn, move!" yelled Bobby Twoknives, one of the humans, and yanked the sin'dorei mage through the portal. They stumbled into a room in Stonard, the unmistakable smell and heat of the swamp a shock after months in the depths of the Stockades.

They were greeted by the rest of their group, a startled pair of sin'dorei, a succubus, and half a dozen heavily armed and armored orcs all yelling questions, threats, and explanations to one another.

Firesworn prudently found the nearest wall and sat down against it, sucking in the relatively clean air as his body shook with reaction to the closeness of their escape. Bobby joined him there, while the chaos slowly, but without bloodshed, sorted itself out.

Looking around in sudden worry, the exhausted mage asked the human rogue, "Where's Nightfrost?"

"I think he was the first through," Bobby replied, also scanning the crowded room. "He should be here somewhere."

Part Two: Sanctuary and Healing

"What have you dragged in this time, old friend?"

"Shouldn't that be, what have I dragged you into?" the grey haired man replied with good humor.

"That is not a way to win back my good graces," said the woman. "What is he? Half-elf? High elf?"

The man looked down at the limp body he held in his arms. "That," he prevaricated, "is a good question."

"Which you don't want to answer," the woman stated. "He looks and smells like he's been dragged through a pigsty . . . Oh, you didn't."

"Didn't what?" the man said innocently.

"That's not the one who escaped today, is it?"

Caught in a direct question, the grey haired man again looked down at the unconscious elf he was still holding. "I think there's a very good possibility that's exactly what he is, but he certainly didn't admit it."

The woman snorted. "Do you go out of your way to find these?"

He cut her off. "I wouldn't have brought him here if I thought he was a danger to anyone but himself. But I need you to look at his eyes. Something very odd is going on."

The woman gave the man an annoyed glare, but she came over and lifted one of the elf's eyelids. She looked, blinked several times, then checked his other eye.

"Well!" she exclaimed. "Just when you think things can't get any weirder. . . The demon-taint in his eyes, it's barely there. Though I can't say what color they truly are, maybe gold, maybe blue or blue-white like night elves; not green, it would be very hard to see the difference if they were green. Are you sure this isn't a high elf whose addiction caused him to step over the pale?"

"Given where I found him and the condition he's in, I greatly doubt it."

"Well, before anything else, he needs a bath." She sniffed the air. "And you probably will too. So take him out to the bathhouse and I'll see about finding clothes to fit both of you."

Later

I heard cats and further way, the barking of dogs. The barking seemed in time with the pounding in my head and I soon heartily wished both to the Twisting Nether, reluctant to leave the warmth of my bed.

Then my brain said, _Warmth? Bed? Whathefuck?_

I squeezed my eyes tighter shut, then blinked them hard. The Stockades did not rematerialize around me. Several cats met my gaze with curious, inquiring cat expressions, which told me nothing. I sat up in bed and quickly decided I wasn't going any further into the world until it stopped rolling like a boat at sea.

The room was painted the color of new leaves. It was definitely not the tiny garret I'd shared in Silvermoon. Sunlight made a brilliant patch on the embroidery of the quilt. I hadn't quite made sense of the pattern when the pain in my head got the better of me. Cats scattered as I toppled into the sunlight.

Someone slipped a piece of light into my hands. My body curled around it of its own desire, but somehow I retained enough consciousness to say, "If I turn into a Wretched, just put a knife in me."

But I didn't, and they didn't, and the mana gem pushed some of the pain away.

I blinked my eyes open again, but didn't attempt to sit up. The grey haired human male and an equally grey haired human female regarded me with much the same expressions the cats had worn. I remembered he, at least, spoke Thalassian, and I wouldn't have to fumble my way through the few phrases of Common I'd memorized. "I'm grateful, mind you, but why am I here? Why am I still alive, for that matter?"

"The Light must have a purpose for you, lad," said the man.

"The Light or Elune," I snapped, "neither one's likely to think particularly well of me. I know I haven't been speaking with them for some few years. I'll trust you have a purpose for sparing me thus far and leave it there."

I pushed myself a bit more upright, then realized I was naked and yanked the quilt around me. It didn't help my show of defiance. Neither did the pounding in my head.

"For now," said the man with a faint smile. He said something to the woman, from which I caught only the words 'blood elf' and 'high elf.' I yawned in the midst of it as well and found myself drooping into the patch of sunlight again.

"Sleep," he said. "We'll have food when you're awake again and another mana crystal if you need it."

I laughed. "I'm not as bad a mana addict as some, but right now, that sounds good. And dangerous. I meant what I said, I'd as soon die on the gallows as become a Wretched."

"And that's why I think you'll do neither," said the man. "Rest, and let yourself heal. Don't be thinking of slipping out that window like one of the cats, you'll not be hunted here."

I hadn't actually gotten as far as thinking of the window as more than just an opening for sunlight until then. But something in his phrasing reminded me of Firesworn when we'd first met, of how he'd given me his protection when I was too broken and, yes, too hungover to protect myself.

_Firesworn . . ._

"The others," I started up, despite my head swirling, or maybe it was the room. "What word of the others?"

He gave me a questioning look. "There was only you and the hunt is gone to Duskwood and Westfall and nearly to Redridge last I heard."

"There was a mage," I said, feeling panicked again. "And two orcs, and a handful of humans."

He shook his head. "They thought you were the mage," he said.

I felt cold and sick despite the sunlight. "The portal was for Stonard, but it opened for me on the bridge . . . I didn't dare stop moving to see if they'd made it through . . ."

"There was no one else on the bridge," he said. "I saw part of it, and you're the only one who came through."

"Oh, gods," I whispered. _Please, if there is any balance in this world, let them be safe in Stonard. Please, not trapped in that vile hole or lost in the Twisting Nether. Please . . . Let him be safe_

I don't know what the human saw on my face, but he said, "Lad, I've got connections. I'll find out what happened to your friends."

Stonard, much earlier

Lorrin Foxfire took charge of the group. For all the sin'dorei portal trainer had gone native, he was still very competent. He wouldn't have survived caught between Cersei Dusksinger and the orcs otherwise.

"We'll just keep them all here, excepting your two kinsmen, of course. They won't see anything vital until we're ready to move them. Just put your guards around the outside. I'll be fine and if I'm not, perhaps dear Cersei will get someone assigned here who's more to her liking."

"I heard that, Foxfire!"

"It's only the truth, dear, and we both know it. Don't worry, I'll keep them out of the reagents."

Amazingly enough, he succeeded in shooing the others all out and in commandeering water and boots and clothes for the humans and Firesworn. He conjured food and bullied a pot of gumbo from the cook. He pulled items and reagents from a chest and invoked a spell to translate his cheerful chatter to the humans. He embraced the exhausted mage like lost family rediscovered and plied him with mana gems and gossip, both regular and mage gossip, which, if it was several months out of date, was still more current than anything Firesworn had heard since Nightfrost had been thrown into the cell block with him.

"Magister Foxfire, thank you for your kindness. Thank you especially for saving my companions." Foxfire had defused the orcs' wrath at the arrival of the group by quickly pointing out the whole lot of them could be sent to Outland without ever seeing more of Stonard than the room they'd arrived in.

Foxfire laughed, delighted. "Firesworn, I'm no more a magister than you are. That's why I'm posted here. It was the best thing that ever happened to me."

He looked at the humans, some still eating, others asleep on mats. "They trusted you to bring them here and you and those orc boys with you all stood up for them. And what you probably didn't see, but I did, was the humans covered for you as well. You looked like an adventuring team." He laughed again, "A very beaten, starved, stinking adventuring team, but still you have that something, that cohesiveness about you."

Firesworn forced a smile and wished he felt cohesive. Instead, he felt shattered and clumsily glued together.

The other mage continued, "Besides, if I still had the faintest desire to be a magister, your arrival here would certainly gain me that; I still can't believe you made a portal stone out of odds and ends. I remember training you, but I hadn't thought you'd truly grasped the theory. So few do."

"I believe you were more interested in my grasp of something else," Firesworn said tiredly, with just a trace of humor.

Lorrin Foxfire grinned wickedly. "Now, that's the first thing you've said that sounded like you since you've got here. Rest, my friend, you've done more than well this day."

"If I'd done more than well, we'd all be here," said Firesworn, bitter failure choking in his throat. "The only 'dorei among us and I lost him"

Foxfire gave him an appraising look and seemed both surprised and pleased by whatever he saw. "I'll see what I can do. Cersei needs to do something useful once in awhile."

They tried a summoning later, Firesworn calling, while Lorrin, Bobby, and the warlock anchored and provided strength. But despite Dusksinger's certainty they had locked onto his spirit, Nightfrost didn't step through the warlock's demon portal.

Firesworn's shoulders slumped, the only sign of despair he allowed himself in front of the others. It was almost time to leave for the Dark Portal, and only the Light knew when or if he would be able to try again.

The warlock managed to corner him in the confusion of readying for the trip. Having literally backed him into a corner between two stacks of crates, she leaned up and hissed, "Your beloved is alive. Hold onto that, you fool mage."

Reflexively, Firesworn replied, "He's not my –"

"Pfaugh! Barely able to stand from starvation and mana addiction on top of creating a portal with stone knives and bearskins in the same day, you still tried calling him here. Just who do you think you're fooling, fire sworn mage with no family name? Besides, Lorrin would never have made the bargain he did with me, if he weren't convinced. And he's 'way too accurate about these things

"He's alive, hold onto that and you will find him again." A thought crossed her face and she added, wickedly, fiercely, "Or he's undead, and you'll find him again anyway. He's not _gone_! Never, ever forget that."

Leaving the stunned mage to consider what she said, she flounced back across the room and out the open door, her fel hound fading into view and galumphing at her heels.

It was little enough, but he found he was grateful to her.


	3. At the House of Purple Hyacinths

**Rogue Magick, part 3** by Rillan macDhai (Fallfeather's real world alt)

Rough draft as of 4/14/10, copyright 2010 by Rillan macDhai, World of Warcraft setting and all that, especially Lorrin Foxfire and Cersei Dusksinger are not mine.

Part Three: At the House of Purple Hyacinths

Dinner and Names

When I woke up again, it was dark, but a small candle sconce was lit near the door. My head wasn't pounding my brain out through my eyes, so I carefully got up and went looking for clothes. I found a blue linen shirt, underclothes and a pair of pale, very worn and much patched denim pants. There was a chamber pot under the bed I was glad to find as well.

And lovely thick woolen socks that wrapped my poor abused feet in prickly warmth.

Those I found on a nightstand near the bed. It also held a pitcher of cool water and a washbasin, towels and a mug and toothbrush. I poured myself a drink, then spent several minutes cleaning months' worth of gunk off my teeth.

I was feeling wobbly after such little exertion. My knees ached like I'd taken two hard cracks with a training sword and my stomach growled an accompaniment. I'd started toward the door when it swung open and wonderful food smells rolled in with a small human girl.

She'd caught me completely flat-footed. I hadn't heard a sound from beyond the door until she opened it. I stared at her; very glad I'd pulled on clothes before blundering about. She was holding a very small white horse in her arms. It seemed so unlikely I just sat down on the floor in the shock of it all.

Her face lit up with a bright smile. "I like you, everyone else always stands over me, 'cept the gnomes and they would if they could. I'm Giselle and Grandmamma said to tell you dinner is ready, if you think you can eat. They'll bring it up to you. Oh, and I wanted you to have this one. Her name is Dream, she helps keep the bad ones away."

With that, she scurried over to me and carefully handed me the tiny white horse. I could see now it was a toy, but very much more detailed than the stuffed dollies from the orphanage.

I took it from her very carefully; aware I was being gifted with something special, at least to her. She reminded me of another little human girl, one I'd met in the Plaguelands, though I'd been the one returning a toy then.

"Will you be alright without her?" I asked. The soft little horse was warm and had a faint grassy smell. I did feel better, holding her, and suspected some magick was infused into the little beast, though I didn't probe for fear of eating the spell. It was like when Firesworn first rested his head on my shoulder back in the Stockades, trusting me not to suck the arcane energy out of him to feed my hunger.

"Don't cry," Giselle said. "It'll make your beautiful eyes all red."

That startled a laugh out of me. No one had told me my eyes were beautiful since the first girl I'd tumbled with back in Murder Row. The thought definitely didn't mesh with being told the same thing by a ten-year old or so I guessed her to be. "I don't think it would show through the fel light," I said.

She shook her head. "That green glow? It's almost all gone. Your eyes will get all muddy looking if you cry."

"We'd been waiting to tell him that, little rogue," said the man who'd rescued me from the doorway, making the second time someone had walked up on me being unaware in almost as many minutes.

"Is there something on that door that blocks sound?" I asked irritably, getting to my feet. I hate things getting near me when I didn't know they're there. Which is wrong, because I do it to others all the time.

"Will you be alright without her?" I asked Giselle again.

"Yes," she said, "and you need her more than I do, right now." She gave me a quick hug and scampered out the door.

"I'll get food," she called back.

I sat down on the bed, trying to look non-threatening to humans and small granddaughters or whatever she was to him. I also didn't think my legs would hold me up a moment longer.

He still leaned in the doorway, expression thoughtful.

I realized I was stroking the little horse and put it next to my pillow instead.

"Have you heard anything?" I asked.

"It takes time, boy," he replied. "Even with you sleeping for days at a stretch."

"Days? How long?" I would have jumped up to pace, but strength just wasn't there.

"It's been almost a week since your spectacular arrival on the Valley of Heroes Bridge," he told me. "My contact should have information for us by tomorrow or the next day at the latest."

I closed my eyes trying to make sense of what he told me and the room gave a crazy lurch. Next thing I knew, he was propping pillows behind and around me so I didn't topple over.

"Lad, you're as tough as any warrior I've fought beside, but you have pushed yourself to the very breaking point, perhaps beyond. You really do need to rest and let yourself heal."

"Yes," said a new voice from the doorway. "I think grandmamma would have strapped you to that bed, but for fear you'd panic yourself into a frenzy if she did."

There was an angel of the Light at the doorway and she'd brought food with her. Not much else registered until I had eaten most of the soup and bread and by then the angel, who had to be either an older sister to Giselle or one of her cousins, had vanished.

"So, lad, what can we call you?"

"Lad is fine," I said around a mouthful of bread and broth.

"We call one of the dogs Lad," he said, straight-faced. "I think it would confuse him."

"I could tell you my working name," I said.

"Working name," he puzzled that one out. "You are a rogue then."

"Mages Blink," I said with a touch of professional scorn, remembering they'd thought me a mage, "they don't shadowstep. And they couldn't sap someone to save their lives."

"And what might your working name be then?"

"Nightfrost," I told him, around a piece of meat I was cautiously nibbling, not sure how much my stomach would tolerate.

"That's your working name?" He blinked. "You're _that_ Nightfrost? The one who stole the Alliance's battle flag –"

"From their gnomish zeppelin-thing? And sold it at the Auction House in Tanaris? Yes, that was me."

He blinked again. And grinned.

And I grinned back at him.

Some minutes later, when we'd both recovered from laughing, he said more seriously, "I don't think we should use that name, tempting though it is. Do you have anything else you use?"

"Not anymore," I said.

_Not since Kael'thas raided Silvermoon and betrayed us. I will never use _that_ name, I will never be _that_ person again. _

He recognized the finality in my voice and let it go.

"I think," piped Giselle, "we should call you Sky, for your eyes. Nightfrost is too cold to be you." The little human girl stood in the doorway, clutching another of her toy horses, a black one this time.

"Little rogue, you're supposed to be in bed," scolded her great-whatever he was to her, but she smiled at me like the sun's own light.

I smiled back. "Sky," I said, tasting the word in Common. Sky was what I'd really seen first, running out of Stormwind, sky of clouds and winds and freedom. "I like that, but why do you compare it to my eyes? The sky only looks green in Feralas."

_Or in Shadowmoon Valley_, my thought completed inside my head and I hoped she'd never see that place.

"Silly," she said, in the way only children exasperated with their elders can. "I'll show you."

She darted off into whatever mysterious land lay beyond the door. I lifted an eyebrow at the grey-hair, but he only shook his head. "Better if she explains it, I think."

"Then, since we are exchanging names, or call names at least, what might I call you?"

"That's Great-Uncle," said Giselle, bounding back into the room. She held a lady's looking glass in one hand.

"Here, see," she held it up to me and I took it carefully.

Under her steady gaze, I angled it to catch the light, thinking I must look the very picture of a vain bloodelf at that moment.

And realized no one would ever think that of me again.

My eyes were blue, with just a faint tinge of fel green.

I almost dropped the mirror.

"You look like Arille Azuregaze in Dalaran," she said, "but your hair is so much darker and you wear it different."

She took the mirror from me, saying, "I'd better put this back."

I looked at Great-Uncle whoever he was without really seeing him and took a long, slow swallow of my cider. _I can't return to Silvermoon. They'll feather me with arrows until I look like a hawkstrider for being a high elf. Well, it's not like I went there often anymore. I'll just have to rethink what sections of the neutral cities I can walk openly in. _

"So," I said, drawing the word out as I set down my drink. "Do all of you speak Thalassian or did I suddenly learn Common overnight?"

"Giselle," said Great-Uncle carefully, accepting my avoidance of further speculation on my changed eye color, "has some special gifts. One of them is speaking and making herself understood to everything. At times, she can share that gift with others."

I sipped the cider again. It was just juice, not yet gone hard and alcoholic. The very last thing I wanted was to get drunk right now, though on some level it was well and truly tempting. "Are we still," I asked, "on Azeroth?"

He seemed surprised by the question. "Yes. We're still in Elwynn Forest. I think using any portal, but especially the one to Outland right now, would kill you."

"I wasn't thinking of using a portal. I was thinking of a ship to Northrend, but you're right. I can't travel like this. And I owe you a life."

He paled. "Don't say that, for the Light's sake."

"Too late," I quipped. "Besides, it's true. And I honor my debts."

"Then guard Giselle, until you are healed, Sky Nightfrost, and I'll call the debt between us even."

His words had the force of a geas. I nodded, accepting and felt the magick of it settle behind my heart. "And you, Great-Uncle, what shall I call you?"

He cracked a smile. "Great-Uncle will do for now, lad. There are some things even a master rogue should have to wonder about."

I inclined my head in acknowledgement and changed the subject further, "Where and how should I dispose of –"

"Waste water and such? Don't worry about it for now. I very much doubt you could walk to the water closet tonight. The girls and I will see to things until you can manage."

"I still don't understand why."

"Nightfrost," he said, "I've fought against the Horde, the Burning Legion, the Scourge and my own people. I watched you consciously decide not to kill me. When you did, the fel glow went out of your eyes."

"The hunger's not gone." I let my fingers stray to the mana crystal on my tray, the one I'd been ignoring in favor of solid, well, semi-solid food. Light, solidified at my fingertips. I drew on the stone and felt it flow into me, warmth that cleared my head, soothed the ache inside, but also made me aware of what was still missing.

"After thousands of years living next to the energies of the Sunwell, I doubt it would be," he said. "But drawing those energies from a corrupted source? That was very recent, even in a human span of years."

"So all we have to do to clear the demon taint from my people is starve them, cut their access to mana to a trickle and wait some months? Oh yes, and then find a way to make them expend their last reserves and present them with a choice of dying or killing someone? I'm sure the magisters and warlocks will be thrilled with the possibility."

"Your eyes haven't become any more green for having absorbed that stone."

"Somehow, I very much doubt you'd have given me a fel-tainted mana stone to feed on. I did something to myself, getting out of Stormwind. I felt something tear inside me. I don't know if it's ever going to be right again or if it's just that I pushed myself beyond that edge you mentioned earlier and once things heal I'll be able to walk the shadows again."

"And if you can't?"

"If I can't, I'll have to find some other way to protect Giselle," I said wryly. "I'm being whinny and deliberately contrary and I do apologize for it."

"And I'm being a bad host. Good night, Sky."

He came and took the chamber pot, and yet somehow convinced the cats, which'd been edging ever closer to the remains of my dinner, to all leave my room before he pulled the door shut.

I didn't hear if it locked and wasn't sure I would, given the soundproofing it seemed to have. With the energy I'd gained from the mana crystal, I moved the tray aside and changed out of my pants and shirt. I left the undergarments on, in case Giselle or strange women might walk in on me without warning. I brushed my teeth again, absurdly pleased to be able to do so, and cleaned up a bit otherwise.

In other words, I kept myself busy with little things, so I wouldn't have to think about the bigger, more frightening, life-changing things and managed to do so until I fell asleep.

I dreamed, but Giselle's white horse, like the Quel'dorei warsteeds of old, seemed to stand guard as she had promised.


	4. Trust

**Rogue Magick, part 4** by Rillan macDhai (Fallfeather's real world alt)

Definite mention of guy/guy sex -- don't read if you don't like

Rough draft as of 4/16/10, copyright 2010 by Rillan macDhai, World of Warcraft setting and all that are **_not_** mine. Sky Nightfrost, Bobby Twoknives, Mo'arg, Slim and Firesworn are all mine.

Part Four: At the House of Purple Hyacinths

I dreamed of a long green valley, dotted with the white tents the Alliance use, set under a sky that looked like the one above Nagrand. I dreamed of Bobby Twoknives and the two orc brothers, Mo'arg and Slim. I dreamed of Firesworn, pacing among the tents like a commander, straight as a swordblade, imperious as a lord, giving orders for something…

. . . Then his eyes met mine and, in the way of dreams, we were suddenly alone and he clasp my arm in a warrior's greeting before pulling me into a hug that woke a twinge from my still-ouchy cracked ribs and filled my nose with soft fur and . . .

And whiskers. The cat sneezed violently all over my face before jumping onto the headboard, leaving me startled and gasping for breath, reaching for my daggers; which, of course, I didn't have anymore.

Someone had been in my room, bringing fresh water and underclothes, a pair of soft low boots, and leaving the door ajar for the cats. Sin'dorei have an affinity for cats, anywhere we stay long you will find cats. I had been owned by several in Silvermoon and Shattrath; usually big orange toms and one or two of their ladies, here, wherever 'here' in Elwynn Forest actually was, I seemed to have been claimed by a small rabbit-colored queen, a black-n-white tom, and an enormous black monster. The last being the one who'd disrupted my dream.

My first priority, since I was awake and feeling better than I had since before my epic night of drinking, was to get the door shut for a little privacy for morning activities. Cats understand nothing about privacy, except when they are killing something or taking care of their own necessities. We are quite alike, the cats and I.

I rather frightened myself with how wobbly I was just trying to cross the short distance to the door. My stomach made some distinctive 'I want fed now' noises as I toddled about, but I got the door shut, my business taken care of, and my pants on without collapsing. Both of my knees had impressive scabs, which must have happened when I first spilled onto the bridge.

The door rattled. I smiled to myself, glad I'd latched it.

A female voice said something muffled from the hall.

I eyed the distance back to the door. "A moment," I said, wondering if she could hear me any better than I heard her. I eyed my shirt, decided it didn't matter and wobbled to the door just as it rattled again and opened.

"Oh hai," I said. She was lovely, a picture of what Giselle would be in another eight or ten years. Black hair to her hips held back with a blue headband, smiling brown eyes, curves in all the right places, my angel from the night before, with a steaming stoneware mug of something in her hand.

I flattened against the wall, letting her choose to enter or not.

She said something ending in a questioning note.

I shook my head. "My Common is terrible," I told her, one of the few phrases I'd committed to memory. My gift for languages is non-existent . "Thalassian?"

She shook her head in turn.

I laughed and her smile turned brighter. Grinning, she offered me the mug.

I sniffed it, thought I recognized the somewhat smokey smell, and tasted. Smokey black chai sweetened with honey, dark and piney, my friends referred to it as "Nightfrost's stinky tea" and wouldn't touch it. Some tightness in my shoulders relaxed again. I let myself lean against the wall and hugged the mug to me.

"I don't know how you did it, but thank you," I told her.

"Food?" she asked, which I did understand, then pointed back over her shoulder, then into the room.

I realized I was slowly sliding down the wall and pointed into the room. "Food, here. Thanks."

And so a pattern was set for several days. I would wake up, have tea, doze on the floor until breakfast arrived, eat, sleep, and repeat. Slowly I gained strength, added propping myself in the window to look out over a fruit grove in spring bloom, birds and rabbits providing entertainment for the cats and I. Giselle came to visit in the late afternoons, but I saw nothing of Great-Uncle and fretted over the delay in knowing whether my dreams were so much mist or not.

With Giselle, I could talk, but there are things I didn't want to mentioned and things you just don't talk about to ten year olds. The little horse she'd given me continued to do its job for I never slipped into any nightmares. Light knows, I'd had enough of them while in the Stockades.

If anything, the dreams I had were far more vivid and far, far more sensual than any I'd had in years. I tried to put it down to having come so close to dying and to the proximity of Giselle's sister or, more properly half-sister, Richelle. No mother or father seemed to be mentioned, but Grandmamma came upstairs once a day to check my eyes and otherwise poke and prod me in the manner of a healer.

None of which explained why the women in my dreams were just as likely to 'morph into Firesworn as stay themselves. I preferred women, though I'd experimented enough to know my partner's sex really didn't matter to me as long as we enjoyed each other. But, damnit to the Twisting Nether, it wasn't even that we'd ever done anything more than share body warmth and what passed for blankets in that terrible place. Guarding one another by unspoken agreement, one of us was usually awake when the other slept. Yet I could remember his head on my shoulder, the absolute exhaustion and surrender and, yes, trust implied in letting me anywhere near him when both of us were drawing mana from a ley line so tiny it was a mere rivelet leaking through the walls.

How he had ever gathered enough mana to open the portal – I didn't let myself explore that thought further.

In my dreams he held me, nothing between us but our skins, his lips exploring mine, pleasuring each other with our touch. I woke up as I came, his name a whisper in the waking world I'd screamed while still in dream, still with him.

Sticky and wet, I finally had to admit to myself I was seriously fixated, in lust with him, and I wasn't waiting another day not knowing if he was even alive.

It was morning, still dark, but birds were calling and the cats had plopped themselves on the headboard and window sill, tails a twitch as they peeped and batted at the panes. I cleaned myself up, dressed, then opened the window for them. They poured out to terrorize the small creatures of wood and field. I wished them much luck.

I smiled after them and went to start my own excitement, the first of which involved getting myself out the door and finding the stairs. Getting to the doorway was no longer a challenge. The hallway had a long runner woven of bright multicolored bits of fabric, soft and thick underfoot. I pattered down the hall with a faint semblance of my old grace and was doing rather well, until I got to the stairs.

One look confirmed I wasn't going to trust my unreliable sense of balance. Instead, I sat down and, keeping the wall carefully as a secondary support, I bumped myself down to the landing like a child. Giselle would have been proud.

The stairs twisted around on themself as seemed to be abiding style in human dwellings and I successfully continued my course until my soft-booted toes were resting on the smooth plank floor of the lower level. I tried standing up, managed it on my second attempt and let my nose guide me to the kitchen.

I didn't like having to clutch the doorway for support, but I'd gone an appreciable distance without really stopping. I could smell bread baking, a truly wonderful smell I recommend to everyone. There was a large woman I didn't recognize working alongside Richelle and Grandmamma. I kept silent, knowing it was never good to interrupt cooks, waiting for someone to notice me.

I heard rapid pattering on the stairs. Pleased myself in being able to turn enough to see Giselle come running up to me.

"Sky! You're awake!" She gave me one of her enthusiastic hugs before hurrying into the kitchen.

"Come sit over here," she called, patting a table. "You can have breakfast with me before I go to school."

"About time you stopped sleeping the mornings away," said Grandmamma with a chuckle, but she watched me as I made my way over to the seat beside Giselle. I didn't get there quickly, but I was able to walk across the room without embarrassing myself.

Richelle gave us both mugs of hot cider, laughing at the face I made at mine. "Your goblin tea isn't brewed yet, silly. You'll just have to make do."

"Sun smile on you, Richelle," I told her. "It's warm on a cold morning, you have my thanks."

Her eyes widened as she realized I'd finally understood something she said to me. In such a simple exchange, I realized something else as well, something I should have grasped much earlier. Giselle's gift would go a long way toward preventing misunderstandings between the races. She would be invaluable just playing in a corner during the Alliance's war councils.

_Or the Horde's_.

If I hadn't already been sitting down and all that – I took a slow drink of my cider. Great-Uncle, whoever he was, had to be insane. Who would trust a sin'dorei master thief to guard the child?

Someone who had just been given said sin'dorei's life debt. Someone who knew I could have killed human children and escaped months of hell and near death, and hadn't. But still –

_Trust. _

_A powerful and terrible thing._

And I hoped sincerely I wasn't her only guardian.

"Sky?"

"You look like you're about to faint."

I steadied myself with both hands on the table. "Just a moment, it's passed."

Giselle hugged me. "You're getting better. Soon you'll be able to come outside."

I lifted an eyebrow at Grandmamma over the girl's head. "Didn't topple over with cut strings like you did. Made it downstairs. I'd say she's right."

Crisis averted, they went back to preparing breakfast.

It was almost too much. I'd never been surrounded by anything quite like their friendly morning family banter. The closest had been my training team among the rogues, the most recent, our group from prison.

Before you get too sorry for me, you should know I wasn't very old when the Sunwell was destroyed. I will say, the number of hugs I'd gotten from Giselle was rapidly approaching more than I'd ever received in my life.

Food was prepared and eaten. I can't tell you to this day what I ate.

The girls cleaned up at the sink and left, Richelle walking her sister to school. Before she left, I managed to ask Grandmamma if she spoke Thalassian.

"A little. More than you speak Common, I believe. Go, keep an eye on the girls. They're just going to the church, you'll be able to see them from the doorway. Don't mind the dogs, they might sniff, but they won't bite."

Given orders, I baulked long enough to ask the question, "Great-Uncle, when will he be back?"

She chuckled, as she always did when I used that name. "No idea. But this came for you." She hurried me along to the front door, lifting a letter from a pile on a decorative table as we passed. "Watch the girls, get some sun, call for me if you need help getting back upstairs. The watercloset's the first door opposite the landing down here."

I stepped out the front door into the colors of an Elwynn spring, finding a little town looking rather like Tarren Mills before the Plague. The girls were just to the next house down, Giselle balancing on a rail fence with a grace I'd once known, scorning the easier path. I watched her until she reached the end of it and hopped down, laughing at something Richelle said to her, knowing my face would not do for a poker game any time soon. I watched until she was safely into the church and Riselle on her way back before I turned to the letter I'd been holding in increasingly shaking hands.

Finding a bench by the doorway, I sat and carefully picked the letter open.

Two sentences, in passable Thalassian, reading: _They're all alive. Details when I return._

I leaned against the wall of the house, close to weeping with my relief.


	5. Of Nightmares

**Rogue Magick, part 5** by Rillan macDhai (Fallfeather's real world alt)

Rough draft as of 4/23/10, copyright 2010 by Rillan macDhai, World of Warcraft setting and all that are not mine.

Part Five: At the House of Purple Hyacinths

Of Nightmares

I tucked the letter inside my shirts, against the skin. The sun was a blessing, but I'd been away from it too long to fall into my morning doze. The breezes were too chill in contrast; I didn't need sunburn and cold air adding problems to my recovery.

I forced myself back onto my feet. It hurt, but it was a purely physical hurt. I could work through it. I made it back to the kitchen, reclaimed my seat, and knew I was done, if not for the day, at least for now.

Grandmamma asked me, "Do you want to go back to your room?"

"No, if you don't mind me here."

"No, not at all, but when you're feeling better, we'll make you work."

She gave me my stinky tea and I slowly wrapped myself around it. "As is only fair."

"Elf boy, you need to eat something solid," said the large woman, whose name might have been Anna, if I'd heard correctly. At least, that seemed to be the gist of her comment. She brought me a plate of scrambled eggs, sliced potatoes and toasted bread.

"You have my thanks, lady."

She laughed with delight and tousled my hair. I only caught "boy" out of what she said as she returned to her cooking, still chuckling.

I blinked after her. Seldom had anyone ever given me such familiar treatment. I was too amazed to be upset. I had come to expect it from Giselle, but was totally unprepared for it from an adult.

Grandmamma tried to apologize for her, apparently concerned by the look on my face. "I'm sorry. She thinks you're about fifteen."

Once I made sense of what she'd said, I laughed too, and tried to explain myself in a mixture of Common and Thalassian. "As we count things, she is nearly right."

I picked at the food, trying not to shock my stomach too badly. I guessed I'd eaten some kind of porridge earlier, though it could, as easily been live frogs; this was stouter, more filling fare.

If my starved urchin condition wasn't helping me look mature, certainly neither was my disheveled hair. They hadn't cut it when they cleaned me up, for which I was grateful, but it was nothing short of a mess. Somehow, despite the knots and mats, they'd gotten it clean and free of vermin. It was a blessing not to be being eaten alive by lice, but I needed to find a brush. The concept didn't exist in our shared vocabulary though and I wasn't going to be able to get back upstairs anytime soon, so I settled for starting to work the mess loose with my fingers.

Grandmamma and her assistant were getting deeply into some gossip as they peeled potatoes. The voices became a soothing drone as I worked to loosen knots. At some point, I slipped into dreams. But, as any druid can tell you, dreams can turn nasty.

Dream turned nightmare, nothing so stable as my dreams of certain ladies being replaced with my mage comrade, nothing so mild. Mostly something unseen, chasing me, as Scourge and Alliance and Burning Legion had done times without number. Death Knights and Abominations were the worse, yanking me back into combat just as I'd nearly disengaged. Something splashed me with acid, burning – cold. A voice rang out overhead, "Death to the Scourge! And death to the living!"

_Sopping wet. Great, now I'll freeze too, as my skin melts off. I glanced up to see what other front we were being attacked on, looking into a cascade of fel green _something_ as a terrible screaming began –_

"Sky! Sky Nightfrost! Wake up!"

Thank whatever gods you like, she used my working name, and I fought my way back from the horror of the Wrathgate, sobbing, my silverware held like daggers, crouched almost in the fire. _Damn you, Putress, there is not a hell deep enough_ –

I blinked hard, not shaking off the horrors, but grounding myself in the waking world again. The sobs still torn at my throat, grief for fallen friends, grief for our two leaders, young Saurfang and the humans' Fordragon, men who might have prevented war between Horde and Alliance when we were hardly in need of going for each others' throats with Arthas waiting still in the north of the world behind that terrible gate.

Grandmamma gave me something I'd never had before when that particular nightmare took me, warm solid arms to help me ground myself again, the simple comfort of another living person in my arms, sharing the pain. She rocked me in her warm arms, smoothed my tangled hair and eyebrows. When my tears lessened, she gave me a soft cloth to wipe my face.

The large woman knelt near us and offered me a cup of water. "Wrathgate?" she asked.

I nodded.

"Poor boychik," she said and hugged both of us. That set me into another round of sobbing until Grandmamma gave me a hard shake.

"Sky, you have to stop crying," she told me, but there were tears running down her face as well.

Oddly, they let me see her as she must have been when young, not beautiful, but a handsome woman with a lovely, sorrow-tinged smile. I kissed her forehead. "Thank you for bringing me back from that."

Richelle came in, giving me an odd look on finding me sopping wet in her grandmother's arms. "What happened?"

"Sky had a bad dream," she said, surely the understatement of the day. "I had to throw the fire bucket on him."

"Giselle told us we had to make sure he keeps that pony with him when he sleeps. It seems she was right again."

I was starting to shake, chill creeping into me even with the warmth from the ovens. My black haired angel said something to Grandmamma and she helped us both up. Anna came out of another room with a quilt and wrapped me in it. We started toward the stairs, but continued through another room and somehow ended up outside. I was beginning to wonder if I was slipping into another nightmare, decided I was simply – simply! – dropping in and out of consciousness.

Someone pulled the quilt over my head like a hood and half-walked, half dragged me somewhere. Somewhere warm and out of the wind and sparkling with light. I think one of them said something like, "This might kill him."

"I can't live like this," I whispered in reply, knowing somehow, fighting my way out of the nightmare, I'd drained what little reserves I'd managed to regain. There was no warmth left inside, just a terrible cold backed by an equally terrible hunger. Someone was going to die and I'd rather it was me than the women who'd given me shelter.

Then I was surrounded by light, warming me, pushing the terrible killing chill out of me. Warmth threatened to spill over into pain in a different way, silencing the hunger in a euphoric rush. Oh, it felt good, surrounded by rising motes of light, warm again, finally, truly warm. The screaming vampiric need lessened, became a happy suckling monster, content to feed on the streaming light and not turn on my friends.

A voice from my training whispered, _Release the energy, too much will burn you out or accelerate becoming a Wretched. _

Generally, on those rare occasions when I've been able to absorb mana like this, it would only be for a few moments, like killing a major void creature in the Nexus and others would be drawing in the light as well. Usually, there's been something close by I could release it on, but there was no one here I would risk harming.

There was another way, but it was trickier, so much easier for anyone who channeled mana into spells than for a rogue. I still had my improvised weapons, the silverware from breakfast; it would have to do. I could have done it without the weapons, maybe. As it was, they made focusing easier. I shook off the quilt and started a combat routine.

The room was open, the ceiling high enough for jumps. I threw myself into a master session, hoping I was guessing right, that the energy I'd use to move my weakened body would be greater than the influx washing over me. Hoping I could achieve a moment of balance and get myself out of this room.

It felt good to move without pain, without the dizziness, the bone-deep exhaustion dragging me down. I danced through rolls and spins, ran along rafters with no more noise than the air, countering a shadow thief who existed only in my mind. I could not shadowstep, bright pain flaring up when I tried, a warning of damage done beyond what the energy flowing through me could heal. I didn't even try to draw the shadows around me.

I landed, spun and launched myself over Grandmamma's head, tucked and rolled onto my feet.

_Keep running_, said the rogue's voice.

I shook my head at myself. "No," I said aloud. "I made a promise."

I closed my eyes, pulled my still wet outer shirt off and tied it over them.

"What are you doing?"

If I didn't quite understand the words, I got the intent.

"Bad enough I know it's here somewhere. I don't want to know exactly where it is."

One of them pushed the damp quilt into my hands. I flipped it around myself, but the breezes weren't bothering me. Yet.

"Bathhouse," said Grandmamma. "Richelle, you take him. I'll finish here. Anna, find his other clothes."

Someone, Richelle by the scent of her and Grandmamma's order, led me to the bathhouse.

It was humid inside the building, smelling of water and herbs. Richelle put a hand against my chest, stopping me. I heard her shut the door, felt the way the breezes cut off, and let the quilt drop, untangling my makeshift blindfold. Dim light filtered through translucent windows in the roof. Though the place seemed large enough for the whole village with several doorways leading from the entrance, the room she took me to was small. Intimate.

Filtered light came from one of the translucent windows. Two lanterns, both unlit, hung from hooks in the ceiling, one near the doorway, and another over the largest bathing tub. There was a small grate in the floor, the stones angled to let water drain into it. She gestured to me, saying something I completely misunderstood.

It wasn't that I did not understand the words this time. It was not understanding what they meant coming from her.

She made a funny face at my expression, untied something behind her back and shrugged out of her dress, leaving her standing in a light underdress and long silky pants.

Ever have one of those moments when your eyes connect with someone's and you feel the electricity in the air? One of those 'I know you' moments when you suddenly become very aware of the person with you?

She was lovely, heavier-boned than our women, rounder of face, but still so beautiful. But she was not of my race and not of my faction and, damn-it-all-to-the Nether, she was my hosts' grandniece and granddaughter respectively, and I very much doubted they'd approve.

And, as she stalked over to me, none of it mattered.

She caught my arm firmly – ah, she was fast - and pulled me over to stand by the grate. She repeated, "Take off your clothes, Sky."

"Great-Uncle will kill me."

She said something like, "After all the trouble he went to saving you?" and laughed.

"Now, off with the clothes, before I just douse you." She waggled a dipper of water at me.

I hesitated, another thought intruding.

"Light a lantern," I told her, pointing to the one by the door. I pulled the letter out of my undershirt. Damp, the ink smudged, it was still recognizable as Thalassian. I was not going to leave it out of my grasp.

She caught on to what I intended and helped me burn it. Even damp, it went to ashes so quickly I had no trouble recognizing what paper it was written on; spyscrap or flash paper, useful for quick destruction of sensitive messages, also used in vanishing powder. I wondered about Great-Uncle but Richelle gave me no time to pursue the thought. She poured the dipperful of water over my head.

I considered retreating out the door.

"Do you want to get cold again? Silly, I've already seen you naked. Who do you think helped clean you up?"

Somehow, I greatly doubted that and it must have shown on my face.

"Sky," she held up a hand on which a single gold ring caught the light. "I was married. He's dead. There's nothing wrong with me giving you a bath, now take off those clothes!"

Some of it I understood, some of it was simply unmistakable. I pulled off my undershirt and undid the tie on my pants, stepped out of them, pulled off boots and socks, and kicked the whole pile to the side. This time, when she poured warm water over me, I let it relax me, let the grime and sweat sluice away with the tension setting my muscles in knots.

She retrieved my pants, confusing me for a moment as she folded them and handed them back. "For your knees," she explained, partly in pantomime, "you're too tall."

My scabbed-over, bruised knees did appreciate the soft fabric as I knelt to let her continue. I watched her knot her long hair back and wiggle in a most interesting way as she took off her own undershirt. Her long pants followed, leaving her clad only in brief undergarments of red silk. Her body was as lovely as I'd imagined. I knew I was responding to it and shifted around, hoping she'd be understanding.

"I could do this myself." My brain, working considerably slower than the rest of me, finally came up with a reasonable protest.

She ran a warm soapy washcloth over my back, eliciting a shudder of pure pleasure. "Right," she said. "You'd drown in the soaking tub. Or have another nightmare."

She rubbed the washcloth into the itchy places around my shoulderblades and I gave up protesting. It wasn't until she encouraged me to stand again and her hands went lower that I shied away from her touch. "You are as nervous as a spring colt. Stand still!"

She smacked me lightly on the leg, as you will with a restive beast to focus its attention. In the moment of surprise, she had the last of my clothes around my ankles. The washcloth was almost unbearable as she lightly stoked me.

I grabbed her hand, pulled her up to face me. "I. Can. Take care. Of this," I managed to gasp out.

"Can you?" She smiled a very naughty smile, but she let me take the washcloth and finish what she'd started. The cleaning part, anyway. My body, greedy thing, felt renewed and oh so aware of her. The months I'd done without added to the pressure. She smelled of lavender and woman and I wanted her.

"Please, Richelle?"

Her eyes widened slightly. "I'll get you rinse water."

I managed not to trip over the last bit of my clothing, adding it to the pile near the door with a flick of my foot after I'd hurried finished washing my legs and feet. I captured the dipper from her and rinsed, especially those places I didn't want her touching.

She slid the lid off the soaking tub and steam tendrils rose into the air like the mana motes from the ley node room. Once I stepped in, I understood why she was concerned I'd drown or fall to another nightmare. It was perfect, hedonistically wonderful.

"I'll work on your hair. You really shouldn't stay in there very long."

"I know," I told her, disinclined to move ever again. I watched her rinse herself and wrap her lovely body in a towel of impressive dimensions before she returned with several bottles and set to work trying to untangle the mess months in prison had made of my mane.

She was gentle, pulling just enough to keep me from drifting. I've been to bathhouses before; she could have worked at any of them. Deflecting the line of thought I'd started down, I wondered instead why the village had a bathhouse. Maybe the town was bigger than I thought. It would have made more sense in Stormwind, but if I were still in Stormwind, I'd be dead – that image was enough to break the mood. I sat back up abruptly, shuddering and earning myself a sharp yank on my hair, though I did it to myself.

"Ouch!" she said. "That must have hurt. Tell me if you're going to move."

"Wasn't planning, I was starting to drift – I can understand you."

We both blushed. "Giselle must be home."

"And somewhere close." I sighed. "Go see if Anna brought over any clothes for me?"

She looked doubtful. "Can you - ?"

"I think I can manage to get out of the tub and dry myself off. There are more towels. I won't stay in so long you'll need to throw in some carrots and invite the trolls over."

She was still reluctant to leave, so I threw a leg over the side of the tub and stepped out. "There! I'm not going to drown myself. Or disappear. It's safe to let me out of your sight for a moment."

She smiled, giving me an appreciative up-and-down that tightened things in my groin again. "Yes," she said. "But what a shame to have to do it."

She stepped out the door, pushing it firmly shut behind her.

I sighed again. There wasn't really time to take care of myself, so I did the expedient thing and rinsed off with colder water than I'd have normally chosen. At least, it cleared the last cobwebs out of my brain. I felt truly like myself for the first time since Zero and I had gone gambling.

I squeezed as much water as I could from my hair, wrapped myself in one of those enormous towels, and found a smaller one to dry my legs and feet. The luxury of the place struck me again. Was the family simply that wealthy? It wasn't impossible, but something felt off about that explanation. It didn't explain the node room, either. But a mage school would, though they usually built towers over such spots.

Richelle, returning with a bundle of clothes, interrupted my musing.

"I could get used to that view," she said appreciatively. "You have nice legs."

I lifted an eyebrow at her. "You know I can still understand you, right?"

She pushed the door shut and leaned on it. "With Giselle lurking outside waiting to ambush us? The leader of the Horde himself could understand me."

I chuckled. "Thrall speaks better Common than I'm ever going to understand."

"We hadn't tried Orcish –"

"Don't! It's too dangerous! Besides, my Orcish is only better than my Common because I've been trying to make myself understood in it for the past few years."

"You don't speak Orcish?"

"Not well." I smiled at memories that had been frustrating at the time, "Goblins will switch to Thalassian to sell me stuff, and I've even had orc vendors use it to keep from hearing me mangle their language."

"Don't they teach you any of this?"

"Maybe now, maybe in the schools. The orcs weren't our allies when I was that young."

She must have heard something of my bitterness in my voice. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean –"

"Don't! It's not your fault. Our leaders made bad choices for us." I shrugged. "And I've been a wanderer most of my life, it's not like I don't have a smattering of languages. It's just, most of what I know isn't fit for polite company."

Rapid knocks came on the door. "What're you two doing?"

"Just talking, Giselle."

"Can't I come in?"

"It's grown up talk, Giselle."

"Like you did with Peter?"

Richelle snorted a laugh, but blushed. "Not quite that grown up."

"Good, 'cause this one's mine."

"The tiny rogue has spoken," Richelle said softly, still chuckling. In a more normal voice, she said, "I'd better go out and keep her company or she'll be falling through the window."

"Will not, I'm better than that."

She threw the bundle of my clothes at me. I could let them hit the floor and get wet or – I caught them.

She made a little face of disappointment my towel didn't fall off before she slipped out the door.

Finally alone, I let my breath out in a long sigh.


	6. Interlude in Outland

**Rogue Magick, part 6** by Rillan macDhai (Fallfeather's real world alt)

Rough draft as of 4/23/10, copyright 2010 by Rillan macDhai, World of Warcraft setting and all that are not mine. Original characters, Firesworn, Bobby Twoknives, Mo'arg and Slim and Sky Nightfrost are mine. About time we checked in on the others. Sky's been taking center stage... If you've read this far, you know this is an M rated story.

Interlude in Outland

"I think I'm going crazy," Firesworn said to Bobby Twoknives as he joined the human at breakfast.

"I hope you don't mean that in truth," said the human, looking up from his plate.

The sin'dorei mage dropped down across the board from him. The fel energy lit eyes already naturally green, intensifying their color to grass emerald, but this close Bobby could see the elf had been crying again, something he took pains to hide from everyone but the rogue.

"Bobby," said the mage, "I wake up with his scent all over the tent, with the taste of him still on my lips. Wet from sex when I never had him in life. I've either been targeted by a succubus or a ghost or I'm going mad."

He lifted those haunted eyes to the human to find Bobby glaring back at him. "Nightfrost isn't dead!" the rogue hissed.

"I know that's what Dusksinger said, but – "

The rogue moved, pinning both of the mage's arms as he slammed him into the dirt behind the bench. "He. Isn't. Dead!"

Normally, Firesworn would have been thrashing in his arms, trying to roll the smaller human off and give him a good shaking for taking such liberties. This limp submission frightened the rogue to his core. Either he'd actually hurt the mage or he was retreating into a place Bobby wasn't sure he could follow. In desperation, in fear of losing his only other true friend, he admitted something he'd been hiding, afraid to even speak of it until now.

"Firesworn, brother of my heart, I know he's not dead. I know, because I've seen him too, and I'm pretty damn certain I was wake when I did."

The mage stiffened under his hands, every muscle taunt. Bobby continued, "I was on watch the other night. He was sitting by your tent, watching, guarding, like he did in the Stockades. He put his finger to his lips like he'd do then and just rolled back into the tent with you. When I looked, he wasn't there, but I could smell him too. And the ground was scuffed, where he'd been sitting."

"Why didn't you say something? Why didn't you rouse the camp?" Firesworn struggled to sit up at last and Bobby let him.

"And tell you what? That Nightfrost was back, but he hadn't stayed? That his eyes were as blue as a death knight's and otherwise he looked like a shadow priest? You'd have been off for Northrend before the words were out of my mouth.

"What I did do was make sure you were still alive. Then I rousted out our resident priest and had her check every inch of camp, every ward, and everyone, including you and me. And I had our other mages do the same. And I fucking let you sleep, once I was sure you weren't dead or cursed or enchanted or charmed, because it was the first night in I don't know how many you hadn't woken up screaming."

Bobby tensed suddenly, rolling off Firesworn into a knife-fighter's crouch. Firesworn Blinked, the spell, not the action, and flattened himself in a jaggy patch of brush. A familiar scent, not quite so pungent as in the Stockades, drifted to his nose after a moment. He looked around for the source and met vividly arcane-blue eyes only a few feet away from where he obviously hadn't hidden himself.

"Nightfrost?"

The other knelt on his heels and reached out a hand, looking, as Bobby had said, more like a priest in shadow form than someone using the color-blending, sight deflecting tricks of a stealthed rogue. He moved slowly, deliberately, letting the mage see both smokily transparent hands were free of weapons, even as Bobby approached in a bodyguard's rush.

"_I miss you."_ The whisper of a whisper, heard more in the head than through the air. Those blue eyes left the mage as Nightfrost looked over his shoulder at Bobby, halting the young human completely. _"Both of you."_

His eyes came back to the mage. _"Firesworn, I_ – abruptly the image faded. Even fainter, maybe imagined, Firesworn heard him curse, _"Damnit! No!"_

He echoed the cry himself.

Bobby was looking at him with huge eyes in a face so white every freckle stood out in sharp relief.

Mo'arg trotted up. "Who the hell was that?" the orc asked, looking around to see if anyone else was still there.

"That, friends, seemed to be Nightfrost."

"Is he a ghost?" the orc asked. He looked around again.

"No ghost should be able to make it through our wards, not even his." The mage straightened, flicked his long hair into place, and stalked toward his tent, again the image of the commander they'd come to expect him to be. "But I intend to find out from someone who should know."

"Voren'thal?" asked Bobby, trotting to keep up with his long strides

The mage gave him a sidelong glance and kept walking.

"A'dal," he said.

*** *** ***

Despite his conviction A'dal would have the answers, Firesworn was afraid of the naaru. _But if Liadrin can face him, so can I._

He flicked his hair into place, brushed imaginary lint from his sleeves, realized he was stalling, and favored Bobby with a bright smile that never reached his eyes. With the rogue guarding his back and Mo'arg and Slim flanking them, he paced across that impossibly large room to the map in its center and the hovering naaru.

As always the Sha'tar lord made him feel welcome and at peace, and somewhat foolish for his fears, though Firesworn realized that last was his own interpretation, fueled by guilt for things which could not be undone.

"Someone I love is lost to me," he said softly, aware the naaru could hear him perfectly well, even if he whispered, knowing also he would see through any lies, even ones the mage only told himself. "Do you know, and, if you know, can you tell me if he is still – " 'alive' was the word he wanted to use, but Dusksinger's taunt, if taunt it was, 'or he's undead,' made him hesitate, searching for a more precise wording.

A'dal chimed softly, filling Firesworn with a sense of being accepted

Only this? The chiming seemed to ask.

"As long as I know his spirit is still somewhere I can find it. Not passed on to whatever Paradise or Purgatory awaits outside."

Then know he lives still in mortal body.

"Thank you, A'dal," Firesworn said, tears of relief running down his face.

_As long as I know he lives, I can believe I will find him again. Whatever is keeping him hidden can be overcome. _


	7. Rogues

**Rogue Magick, part 7** by Rillan macDhai

Rough draft as of 4/25/10, copyright 2010 by Rillan macDhai, World of Warcraft setting and all that are not mine. Original characters are. **Possible smut alert! Guy/Girl short make out session. Let me know if I need to move this back to an M-rating.** Or if you see any Mary-Sues -- please help me keep my stories Mary-Sue free! I'm afraid I might be dropping too much information that might not be needed in a couple of Sky's longer ramblings, but ....

Part Seven: At the House of Purple Hyacinths

Rogues

I unrolled the bundle of clothes, wondering what I'd find. To my amazement, it was my working gear; at least, what of it the rogues and guards of Stormwind hadn't taken before throwing me into the Stockades. They were clean and they didn't reek, something I could hardly believe. My leathers, not the armor, but the soft stuff I wore underneath as padding. Buttersoft doeskin pants, my troll boots, not made of troll, but cut in their style with toes for easier climbing, half-sleeved jerkin with pockets, and fingerless gloves, all in shades of black, grey and dark green. All had been cleaned and carefully repaired. My belt and the lacings of my gear had been replaced. The red Defias shirt was a winter-weight wool, prickly as all woolen items are, but deliciously comfortable and mostly hidden by the jerkin. My underclothes had been replaced with new items, but that I didn't mind at all, they'd not even been fit for the rag pile.

I dressed quickly. Now I looked like myself as well as feeling that way. The only things missing were my knives and sword. Those would not be so easily replaced, not without a trip to Booty Bay or one of the other neutral cities where I could get to a bank.

There was a basket under the shelves holding the towels. I put our wet clothes in it and, carrying my houseboots, went to find Richelle and her sister.

They were outside, Giselle sitting on the roof of the building's porch in trousers like Richelle's and a long sleeved shirt, wearing boots remarkably like mine. Her outer dress was thrown over a porch rail. With a happy cry, she swung herself down and ran over, stopping out of arm's reach to study me.

I dropped down onto my heels, remembering she hated people standing over her. "Well?" I asked as she continued examining me.

"I've not seen many quel'dorei dressed like you. They're either in town clothes or chain or plate armor," she said seriously. "You'll need to be careful, Sky, someone might try to kill you before they see your eyes. Maybe even then."

She chewed on her lower lip. "We'll have to get you some knives," she decided. "I'll talk to my trainer about it."

She sprinted away, leaving me stunned once again.

Once I'd recollected my scattered wits, I turned to Richelle. She simply shook her head. Picking up her sister's discarded dress, she led me back to the house.

Coming upon the building from the side, I noticed a sign near the road, a simple painting of three hyacinths, very realistically rendered.

"Richelle?" I asked. "Is this an inn?"

She looked back at me, replied, "Yes and no."

"Both?"

"I don't think I can explain until Giselle gets back."

"Is she a rogue?"

Looking puzzled, she held the door open for me, apparently deciding on an answer before speaking.

I stepped inside, scanning the foyer for anything or anyone new. It was empty of people and looked the same as it had when I'd come in earlier. Was it only this morning? The day seemed impossibly long already. I stretched, rolling my shoulders and automatically checking for weapons that weren't there. It was, for a moment, a disturbingly naked feeling.

"I can see it now," she said, still behind me by the door. "Even watching you doing your kata, I could still see you as Sky, sweet, polite and a little confused. But you were changing, becoming the man you were before my people nearly killed you."

"And is that terrible?" I studied her face, wondering if I'd slid back across the line to being 'the enemy.'

"I don't know yet," she said honestly.

Giselle came through the door then, as I'd half expected when I realized I understood all of what Richelle was saying again. "Teacher says to bring you with me tomorrow, so you can get the right ones."

I dropped down to her level and made a careful hand gesture as I told her, "Thank you, Giselle."

Her eyes got a little wide and she echoed the gesture in the Alliance's style.

I made a second sign, but she shook her head. "I don't know that one, yet."

"Most people who'd be this far north won't use it, but you might see it if you ever go to Stranglethorn. It means 'not hunting you, pass me by,' but you can't always trust it. Still, those of us who bother using it usually do mean it."

"Thanks, Sky. I wish I could stay to talk, but I've got chores to do. I should be close enough you can still talk to Richelle. Maybe we can practice later until I can get it right every time."

"Here's your dress, little sister."

"Thanks, Riche." She darted away, almost silently compared to her usual mad rabbit's scamper.

"Later, little rogue," I said to her retreating back and smiled after her, standing up again. "So, it isn't just a nickname."

"No, she's been training since she was five."

"I'm surprised Great-Uncle would allow it."

"Grandmamma rules the house, and she allows it. I think Giselle's trying to impress you, she usually sounds like a cavalry charge."

"That's when she's pretending to be a horse." I smiled, "She shared that one with me the other night."

"You sound like you genuinely enjoy talking with her."

I was startled. "That's because I do. She's not afraid of me and that's such a relief. It's like being --," I searched for a word. "Like being home or what I imagine home must be like. This morning was so comfortable; I could pretend I belonged here, just for a little while. I'd probably still be sitting there if I hadn't had that nightmare."

"Are you going to leave, now that you're better?"

"I'm not sure I am better," I told her, starting slowly up the stairs. "My mana addiction's sated for the moment, but I don't know what happened to me this morning. A simple nightmare shouldn't have drained me; that was like something attacked. And I still can't call shadows. Besides, I've a life debt to repay."

"What?" she looked genuinely puzzled. "I don't understand."

I paused at the landing, leaning on the banister. "Which part?"

"All of them, any of them, except the need your people have for arcane energies, we've had high elves stay here before."

"I'm not a high elf, Richelle," I said softly. "You shouldn't think of me that way. The Alliance has been trying to kill me almost my entire life. No matter that I side with the Scryers, or that I was a child when Kael'thas fled to Outland.

Dropping my voice to a whisper, I added, "I'm still sin'dorei and a member of the Horde."

"And what will be the Horde's reaction, now that the fel taint is gone from you?" she demanded, her voice rising. "To the world, a blood elf has fel green eyes and red hair."

"That's because most of them dye it that color," I mumbled, not wanting this conversation. "Mine's never been redder than it is right now."

"Actually, yours has a lot of red in it."

I went to run my fingers through it without thinking, caught them on more knots. "I need a brush for this," I said in exasperation. "I usually keep it dyed black, my brows and lashes are dark enough it looks natural, more than I can say for most rogues. At least the high elves and my people still speak the same language."

"How old are you?" she asked, completely off subject.

"Probably older than Great-Uncle, but probably not by much. I was somewhere between ten and thirty when the Scourge came to Quel'Danas."

She joined me at the top of the stairs, her eyes searching my face for something. "Do you hate us? Hate the Alliance?"

"What? No! No, I don't. You're people, just like us, just like the orcs and the Darkspear trolls and the tauren, even like the free-willed undead. You just want a safe place to live and raise your children. Well, maybe the Forsaken don't, but they mostly want to be left alone.

"I hate being hunted and I hate stupidity from our leaders, whether its Alliance or Horde. I hate Arthas Menethil and Kael'thas Sunstrider and from what I heard Putress died the final death entirely too fast."

"You don't hate the Scourge?"

"That falls into the 'hates being hunted' category and Arthas."

Generally, I try not to think about Arthas, it was too easy to blame every bad thing in my life on him, rather than just what he'd actually done. I'm sure she could hear the loathing in my voice, but I'm hardly the only one to feel that way about the damned prince of Lordaeron. I didn't see any reason to hide my feelings, at least on that matter.

"Sky?" Richelle put her hand on my arm.

"Sorry." I smiled at her. "Did I answer your questions?"

"Most of them. You haven't explained what you mean by a life debt, though I think I can get some idea just from the name."

"Great-Uncle saved my life. I promised I'd protect Giselle until I was healed. As I said, I don't think I'm fully healed and even if I did, I wouldn't leave until he came back. Or until someone more capable than a master rogue who can't call shadow anymore shows up to guard her."

"What does that mean, calling shadow? It sounds like something a warlock would do."

"Heh." I tried to put an explanation together for her.

"Have you ever seen Giselle when she is just beginning to hide? How your eyes start to slide off her? If you look away for even long enough to blink, you can't see her again unless she hasn't moved. And even then, you might not see her?

"That's calling shadows, blending with them, being not seen. Telling people they don't need to look at you, that you aren't really there at all or that if they do notice you, you don't seem out of place or threatening. It's part of a rogue's magick."

Her eyes widened, comprehending and understanding "And you can't do it anymore?"

I looked beyond her, at the walls, not really seeing them. "When I was trying to get out of Stormwind I had to force another shadowstep before I'd recovered from the first one I'd done, and something torn inside me, in my head, maybe. I tried to do it in practice today -- think of something like a mage casting a Blink spell, except you have to have a target to step behind. It's the highest level of calling shadows. While it's never easy to do in a solo practice when I tried to do it today, I could feel damage somewhere inside like a physical wound, it made my head ache almost as bad as my mana addiction.

"Maybe it will heal with time, I don't know." I shrugged. "My fighting style is all about moving, speed, and looking for weak points. Stunning people for others to pick off, if necessary, instead of killing. Shadowstepping is as normal to me as breathing, without being able to do it or to call shadows, I'm a poor fighter and damn near useless as a scout."

"Like a ranger without a war pet?"

"Sort of, but without the spells they can put on their weapons." _No, we use poison to mimic that, but I'm not even going to mention poisons. _

_And I would have died today, if you hadn't gotten me to that node when you did. Died or become a Wretched and tried to drain anyone I was near. But I don't want to tell you, tell you and be further bound here, lovely though you are. Not when I know Firesworn and the others are still alive. My sense of honor could all too easily be invoked and I don't know what you might ask, especially not after today at the bathhouse. I let Great-Uncle geas me, so he could accept I wouldn't hurt his family, and I'd have a place to recover, but I've been caged too long. I want my freedom. _

_If you figure it out on your own . . . Well, I'll hope you don't. I'm not volunteering this time. I want to know if there's anything to my dreams beyond a boy's infatuation. _

"Sky? Are you still with me, Sky?"

"Hmm? What?"

"You looked like you were lost. I wasn't sure if you were alright or not."

"Thinking deep thoughts, sorry."

Casting about for something else to talk about, I said, "So why is Giselle getting rogue training?"

"It's better than her becoming a warrior, rogues aren't expected to fight on the front lines."

"Sometimes, we don't have a choice. Sometimes it's where we need to be." An echo of the Wrathgate sounded in my head. I could hear the war horns --

Faintly, I heard Richelle scream, "Grandmamma, he's doing it again!" but it was far away, like a memory, and the battle was being joined all around me.

Then Richelle was tight against me, strong arms pulling my head down to her mouth. "Nightfrost, stay with me!" she demanded and kissed me hard, bruising both our mouths. Her fingers clawed their way down my back and pulled me closer still, one hand sliding between my pants and ass in an intimacy that made me gasp and cleared the horrors from my head. I gave myself over to the kiss until need for breath drove us apart, hands exploring her body, desperately wanting something to pull me out of a dreamscape I really didn't want to be in.

"Giselle would never forgive me if I let you drain your energy again." She was so close I could see the gold flecks in her brown eyes.

"Or me, if I took you to my bed," I said raggedly. Reluctantly, but firmly I pushed myself away. In that moment, I wanted her so much I didn't dare still touch her. And I was tired, as though I'd been fighting. My head felt like dwarves were dancing in it. I braced myself against the opposite wall

"You have to tell me, Richelle. What am I doing when those memories hit me? What am I doing that frightens you so?"

"You're being there, in your mind, and making it visible to everyone around you."

I sagged against the wall, protesting, "I never studied magick, they tested me and said I had none."

"Heh," said Grandmamma, coming up the stairs with a mug of my tea. "They didn't know what they were looking for with you. Or it took the trauma of the Wrathgate to awaken it in you. Projective illusions are very rare, especially at the scale you can create them."

She pushed the mug into my hands and beckoned us to follow her into what I'd come to think of as 'my room.'

She plucked Dream from her spot by my pillow and tucked the little white horse into the crook of my arm. "From now on, you don't go anywhere without her. I don't care what you are doing or how silly it looks, you keep that toy with you."

She gave orders like a general and I responded to the tone. "Yes sir! Ma'am. Damnit, we don't differentiate. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Grandmamma."

She laughed and kissed my cheek before I escalated into hysteria. "I understand, Sky. Drink the tea, it will help you as well."

It was heavily sweetened and there was a faint underlying taste I couldn't place. "Tell me you aren't giving me something to make me sleep."

"Light bless you, boy, no. It's something to block what you're doing until we can figure out what's happening. We give it to mages when they're sick."

I sat down on the floor, pulling my knees up and wrapping an arm around them while I balanced the mug with my other hand. I took a steadying drink and said, "If I do that again, use my working name. I'm not sure I'll hear you if you call me Sky, I haven't used that name long enough. It might," I looked at Richelle and knew I was blushing for Grandmamma being there as well, "it might let you avoid using such drastic measures to bring me back."

I shivered, not with the chill I now knew was mana drain, but true fear. Things had slid sideways into a realm I didn't understand. Giselle came in and sat next to me, her arms full of fabric and yarn. She began spreading them out into different piles.

Richelle was sitting on my bed and Grandmamma had commandeered the only chair. It was Richelle who broke the silence, saying, "You said you hurt yourself getting out of Stormwind and it seems to be preventing you from using the upper ranks of your rogue abilities. You called it rogue magick."

I nodded, sipping more tea. She was repeating it for Grandmamma and Giselle and though I wasn't sure the girl should hear some of what we might talk about, I was so glad we didn't have to do this while trying to get around the barrier of our separate languages. It was going to be difficult enough.


	8. At the Dark Portal, Magick & Rogues

**Rogue Magick, part 8** by Rillan macDhai (Fallfeather's real world alt)

Rough draft as of 4/27/10, copyright 2010 by Rillan macDhai, World of Warcraft setting and all that are not mine. Original characters are. And no, no one's paying me to do this; though once I get it out of my head I might send it to Blizzard…

Something from the other guys, yay! Technically, it comes before part 6 Interlude in Outland, but I've been having trouble getting Firesworn and his group to talk to me. These darn things come to me in pieces and jumping back and forth between Sky and Firesworn and his group being in different timelines is enough to make a person mad in the first place

I'm still having trouble with the mage, so far all I know about Firesworn is that his eyes are true green, even without the fel and maybe, just maybe he sounds like the voice actor who did Starblazers' Desslok of Gamilon in the original American run of the series. His hair might be a dark blonde that would sun streak and he might have facial hair – he certainly has it while in the Stockades and just after, but I don't know if he'll remove it all or what…. I just can't get a good look at him in my head. Oh, and Bobby splinted his crushed hands shortly after he was dumped into the prison, but I'm still working on the rogue's motivation for that. Maybe just sympathy, since rogues aren't much use with mashed hands either… personality-wise or history-wise, except for his interest in Nightfrost, he hasn't been very forthcoming. Not sure why Bobby has attached himself yet either ... dang secretive, maybe I need to get them drunk...

In WoW terms, all three of the mains would be level 80s (Bobby just went directly to Northrend from what seems to be referred to these days as "Vanilla WoW", the original 1st -60th game). Still sorting out how skilled the orcs and rest of the humans are….. And yes, I know it's short, I'm trying to kick start another long section...

Part Eight: At the Dark Portal

The group stood on the platform beyond the Dark Portal and watched the sky of Outlands shimmer overhead. Only Firesworn and the orc brothers had seen it before, the humans were clearly overwhelmed. From the steps leading down and away came the sounds of a minor skirmish with the Burning Legion, but none of the infernals were visible from where they stood.

Firesworn felt a bit queasy; he'd been away from the energy thick in Hellfire Peninsula long enough for the demon taint to actually have a taste again and it was making him ill. Part of him wanted to get to the clean air in Shattrath, get a room, a bath, a hooker and start working contacts to find out the current situation. Part wanted to skip the bath and the hooker and sleep for a month. But first he had something to do before they all scattered.

"Guys, I've got something for you," he said, gathering the attention of the men with him.

Some of the humans gave him wary glances, uncertain of his temper now they were finally free of both the Stockades and the Horde 'escort' who'd seen them to their exile. Bobby was still staring at the sky, unconcerned with what the sin'dorei mage was doing. Mo'arg's usually quiet brother, Slim, was in animated conversation with two of the others about a bar in the Lower City section of Shattrath while his brother looked on in amusement.

"A very belated, but happy Winter's Veil," the mage said, opening a bag he'd been carrying since leaving Stonard. He started pulling out smaller bags and handing them to the men around him. "And don't say I didn't pay my gambling debts."

"Firesworn," said one, his voice amazed after glancing into his 'present.' "I know even at a copper a point, there's no way you owed me this much."

"Fferdin, of course I know that," said the mage, his voice rich with amusement. "You're a great lockbeaker, but a terrible gambler. What didn't you get about this being a gift?"

Alliance troops came through the Gate at that moment. Shaking off the disorientation of the portal, they sorted themselves back into their ranks, eyeing the mixed group sharing the landing with them with suspicion.

Mo'arg and Slim, equipped by their fellow orcs at Stonard, stepped forward to flank Firesworn, hands resting on weapons hilts. Bobby, producing two wicked blades the mage knew he hadn't carried when they left the Horde outpost, finally stopped looking at the sky. Instead he stood with his head tilted, idling spinning the blades in his hands, a disturbingly sweet smile directed at the Alliance officer.

The officer shook his head, smiling back. "Mercenaries," he said. "Damned mercenaries." But there was no heat to his voice and he surprised them all by lifting a hand in what was not quite a salute directed to the air somewhere between the human rogue and Firesworn.

"Good hunting," he added, clicking encouragement to his horse and urging the beast over to the stairs. Given a loose rein, the animal lowered its head and began carefully picking its way down the stones. The troops gave them sidelong glances and a few rude gestures out of sight of their sergeant, but nothing further happened before they followed their commander.

"Oh, won't those boys be all sorts of fun to meet at Honor Hold," said Bobby, making the daggers disappear as quickly as he'd drawn them.

But Firesworn was thinking of what the officer had called them and finding inspiration, "Before we all go haring off our separate ways, what do you think of this?"

Part 8: At the House of Purple Hyacinths

Magick and Rogues

I shivered, not with the chill I now knew was mana drain, but true fear. Things had slid sideways into a realm I didn't understand. Giselle came in and sat next to me, her arms full of fabric, dried herbs, and yarn. She began spreading them out into different piles.

Richelle was sitting on my bed and Grandmamma had commandeered the only chair. It was Richelle who broke the silence, saying, "You said you hurt yourself getting out of Stormwind and it seems to be preventing you from using the upper ranks of your rogue abilities. You called it rogue magick."

I nodded, sipping more tea. She was repeating it for Grandmamma and Giselle and though I wasn't sure the girl should hear some of what we might talk about, I was so glad we didn't have to do this while trying to get around the barrier of our separate languages. It was going to be difficult enough.

But actually, it wasn't. Grandmamma, if not a mage herself, certainly knew a great deal about them, about the problems and illnesses they had and how to counter those with herbs and other medications. The magisters I'd dealt with would undoubtedly have been anxious to push me into training, seeing if they could exploit whatever talents I might have. Grandmamma had simply shrugged. "If it doesn't go away in a month or two, especially if your other abilities don't come back, we can test you further. Meanwhile, we'll see if we can teach you how to control it enough to not fall into waking nightmares, in case you do misplace Dream."

I looked at the little white horse in my lap, none too happy with the thought of having to delay here for another cycle of the moons, let alone two.

"What is she?" I asked. Somehow, I'd never been able to think of the toy as 'it'.

"She's a dream catcher," said Giselle.

I smiled as though I understood what that meant, and it did seem a bit self-explanatory, but nightmare-catcher seemed a better name. She'd seemed to be in the process of constructing another one during our discussion.

"Well, I going to down to start dinner," said Grandmamma, signaling an end to the conversation. "There should be some cold meat and cheese left from lunch and maybe some of the chowder."

My stomach decided lunch was an excellent idea and loudly let everyone know I couldn't exist on nerves and mana alone. Richelle, who'd also missed lunch, gave me a hand up from the floor.

"We were coming up here for a brush, weren't we?" she asked, leaving me blinking for a moment. I'd understood the words, but my perverse mind put another twist on what it actually might mean. It wasn't until the black haired young woman drew a hairbrush out of one of the drawers I hadn't investigated yet that I realized what she was actually talking about.

Okay, so having Giselle around didn't eliminate all confusion. I thought about that and the interesting sway of Richelle's hips as I followed them down to lunch.


	9. More Rogues

**Rogue Magick, part 9** by Rillan macDhai (Fallfeather's real world alt)

Rough draft as of 4/29/10, copyright 2010 by Rillan macDhai, World of Warcraft setting and all that are not mine. Original characters are. And no, no one's paying me to do this; though once I get it out of my head I might send it to Blizzard… maybe they'll pay me, ha ha ha….

Part 9: At the House of Purple Hyacinths

More Rogues

There was still some fish chowder and it was still warm, half a loaf of good fresh bread from the morning baking and cheese. Given how much food I'd watched them preparing, I did wonder where the rest of it had gone. I hadn't seen anyone else in the house, but this was the first day I'd been downstairs.

It had been a busy day and by the time I'd helped carry our bowls to the sink I was feeling every bit of it. Mana recharge or not, I was badly out of shape and just getting downstairs had been a challenge. It took Richelle and Anna to get me back up to my room. I was shaking with exhaustion by the time I got into bed, so I didn't bother to do more than peel out of my jerkin and boots before stretching out on the quilt.

I remember thinking my hair would just have to wait a little longer and then a sort of falling feeling, but not unpleasant. When I dreamed, it was of the nighttime sky of Nagrand and Firesworn sleeping peacefully in a tent nearby. It seemed perfectly natural to keep guard, as I had done in the Stockades. It wasn't until I saw Bobby taking watch that I relaxed and rolled in beside the mage. I lay there for a moment, thinking about waking him, but I was tired and sleep was heavy on my eyes. Bobby and the white horse could keep guard. It was good just to be near him, it finally felt safe to sleep.

I woke up, completely disoriented to find myself in a bed. Firesworn's scent lingered, at least in my mind, and I actually looked around the room, trying to find him. "Nightfrost, you have got it so bad," I scolded myself. Giving up the hunt I lit a couple of candles and went to work on my hair, determined if I couldn't control anything else, I would at least finish subduing the knots.

It was maybe an hour later when someone knocked at my door. I opened it to find Richelle standing there. "Dinner's going to be served in a few minutes, if you feel up to joining us. No one's here but the family tonight."

I almost said no, I was that tired, but Giselle waved to me from down the hall and decided me. "You might have to drunk-carry me back up the stairs again, but I'd like that, give me a minute to tie back my hair."

"You finally got it brushed out. It looks nice."

"Yes, thanks, but if I don't tie it back, it'll get in my mouth."

"I've always wondered, why do the elves wear their hair so long?"

"All the 'Dorei? Not a clue. We do it to be contrary, to look good, and annoy our enemies. Yes, I know it can be grabbed in combat, I've had that misfortune, and my hair did used to be longer. But the idea is to never allow anyone close enough to be able to do it. It's a matter of pride."

"So that's why some of the troops have braids," she said.

I knew what she meant; I'd seen it in Hellfire and again in Netherstorm, braids woven of hair from dead or captured sin'dorei, worn by Ally troops. Some of the orcs and trolls carried them as well, though usually woven with a strip of uniform from one of Kael's loyalists.

I realized I was starting to be very annoyed by that particular memory and cast around for another topic. "Do you have a practice area where I can throw things?"

"What?"

"Grandmamma said I should try to stay calm and think happy thoughts, just not in those words. Some sin'dorei meditate, like the quel'dorei, the high elves. I throw things. Please, I need some knives, throwing stars, darts, something, and somewhere I can practice with them."

"Darts," she said brightly. "I think we can trust you with darts. We've a dartboard down in the common room."

Trust me with darts? After what I'd done today, would anyone be seriously worried? Little did she know the carnage I could wreck with a handful of darts, I thought. I finally finished wrapping the leather thong and had my hair looking reasonable. Eartails had escaped and framed my face, but the majority of it was out of the way. Wondering again at my status in the household, I followed her downstairs.

Dinner was amazing, with fresh spring greens, potatoes, a venison and rabbit ragout, and lovely small loaves of brown bread. Conversation at the table was mostly about planting, when to lift certain bulbs, whether the peacebloom had sprouted yet. Indeed, most of the conversation revolved around when and where to go looking for certain herbs; I'd have never understood it if Giselle hadn't been there.

I felt well enough to help with the dishes; Richelle washed them, I dried, and Giselle put them away. Once again I noted things hinting at a good amount of wealth, the number of dishes for one. There were a lot more dishes than even a huge farming family could allow for, and on the upper shelves tureens and gravy boats and casseroles and others I couldn't name, touched with blue and true red and delicate gold accents. Then there was the fine iron stove and the ovens. Again I wondered if this was not an inn, what was it?

The dinning room table could easily seat twelve. Woolen rugs graced the floor, heavy curtains, the windows, and the chairs were leather or night elven carved woods, pleasing to the eye and padded with colorful pillows and soft woven throws. Pewter and silver tankards decorated the mantle of a large fireplace, heavy wolf-headed andirons the hearth.

And one side of the room was a dartboard and a knife target.

Grandmamma was knitting something when we came in, I was aware of a pause in the clicking of her needles. "Still awake? I'm surprised, but you are looking much better." Two white dogs, looking like smaller versions of frostwolves, lifted their heads to study me before going back to sleep by her feet.

"I don't feel cold into my bones anymore, thank you," I replied; content to ignore the dogs if they were willing to ignore me. I inspected the darts. They were well feathered and had good balance. Holding them, I felt a little knot of tension release.

Pacing back across the room, I practiced. Throwing darts isn't like throwing knives or axes; you need to be closer to your target. Or have a blowgun and smaller darts. And something nasty to coat the darts with…

Throwing was soothing, not quite mindless repetition. Finally satisfied with a fist-sized cluster, I wished the ladies of the house a good night and carefully got myself back upstairs. I was tired, really, really tired, but I wasn't cold and there were no horrors nibbling around the edge of my thoughts.

I latched the door, peeled off my clothes and, shooing the little black and white tom out of his nest, crawled into the bed. The tom came back, purring loudly, and proceeded to stomp around on my pillow, randomly pulling hairs and bunting me with his head. I finally pulled the quilt over my head to thwart him and sometime shortly after that I was asleep.

Morning came with a cat yowling at the window. I rolled over and looked up to find Black Tom was puffed up to twice his usual side, expressing his displeasure with the buff orange cat outside the window.

I reached up and tapped sharply on the window, popping up to startle the other cat into a retreat. Black hissed, and I opened the window to let him out to defend his home and women.

I was sore and stiff and spent the next minutes limbering up. I pulled on my clothes and my troll boots, splashed my face with some water, and ran the brush through my hair. Such a simple thing, but it felt so good. With Dream peeking out of my shirt like a boutonniere, I grabbed my jerkin and, leaving my hair loose for the moment, trotted, yes, trotted down the stairs. I was still sore, but there was a dancing anticipation along my nerves, and I was hungry enough to eat a kodo.

Okay, maybe just one of the human's cows.

Maybe just a sheep.

I was fairly certain I could devour an entire sheep by myself at that moment.

They put me to work brewing tea, my stinky tea and something that was more of an herbal infusion for them. After I got the teapots properly warmed, I started peeling potatoes. In the course of my career I have probably peeled my weight in potatoes more times than I have years. Despite that, I love them, especially mashed creamy with butter and herbs and a more than healthy sprinkling of salt.

Breakfast was well started when the dogs began bellowing and there came a frantic knocking at a side door. Grandmamma pulled a wand out of one of her sleeves, Giselle and her sister produced knives, and Anna took a better grip on the cleaver she'd been using to chop chickens into quarters. Nothing sharp was immediately to hand, except for my paring knife, so I joined the general arming by lifting a poker from the hearth.

Grandmamma peered out a window, and then yanked the door open. Two human men and an entire pack of white dogs flooded into the room. Both of the men were covered in blood, but the dogs didn't seem to have any on them. Nor were they attacking, seeming to be more dancing around in greeting and confusion than hostility.

Anna took a quick glance out the door, yelled, "Out, heathens!" and the pack flowed back out the door in a white rush. One of the humans was sagging on the other, leaking fresh blood all over the clean floor. The other was wheezing like a wind-broken horse. Grandmamma took one look at the wounded men and began clearing the kitchen table. I tucked Dream's head back into my shirt and went to help Richelle with the more injured of the two.

The wheezing man gave me an incredulous stare before Giselle turned him away. I had a feeling he recognized me, but there was no time for a confrontation while we tried to keep his friend among the breathing.

It was a long bloody morning. At the end of it, it seemed the human might live, but someone had worked him over professionally. Without major magicks, he would never be whole again. Or see. We put him in a room similar to mine on the ground floor.

Giselle had gotten the other man calmed and bandaged and tucked in a corner out of our way. Anna had somehow managed to keep everything that had been cooking from burning. Grandmamma had me pour drinks for us all. She took a mug of my tea, though without the herbs she was mixing into mine. She did something arcane to warm all our drinks.

No one spoke, but the human kept watching me while we ate. I tried to ignore him, but the tension in the room, at least to me, just kept building. When Giselle was sent for the priestess, I grabbed my jerkin and followed. I wanted away from the man and I wasn't inclined to let Giselle out of my sight with such an exciting start to our day. One of the dogs trailed along with us, too, as though it knew something was out of the ordinary.

I let Giselle explain things to the priestess, who, other than giving me a quick appraisal, grabbed her healing supplies and left at a sprint that would do a rogue proud. I'd been expecting to escort her back, but Giselle had other errands in mind.

"We'll make sure people see you with me and pick up your knives," she said firmly and led me to a house hidden in the trees beyond the graveyard.

She deliberately made a good deal of noise as she approached the house and a small green-haired figure stepped into view, inspected us briefly, waved and ducked inside the building.

A gnome.

Of all the Ally races, they disturb me the most, manic little folks like a cross between a dwarf and a goblin, with a sugar rush thrown in. Wicked fighters and let's not even consider the ones who dabble in demon magick. Their rogues are nasty as a pudding bag full of knives.

I went from merely alert to hyper alert.

Giselle had stopped, and I was just fine with not getting any closer. "How many are there?" I asked her.

"Seven or eight," she said. "They keep switching people in and out. Most should be out scouting right now.

I heard something, a faint creak not fitting in with the background sounds. Grabbing Giselle, I swung her behind me.

"Hey!"

And dropped into combat stance with the poker I was still carrying, a dart I'd absently slipped into my hair from last night ready to fly in my other hand.

Giselle's "Don't!" was all that kept me from putting it in the eye of the human who dropped silently out of one of the trees above us.

We stared at each other for several long seconds before he spread his hands and bobbed a graceful half-bow to me. I inclined my head in return, neither of us taking our eyes off the other.

"If you're quite done," said Giselle crossly, tapping her foot in a good imitation of Grandmamma.

The human stepped back and relaxed his guard. "So you're the old man's new recruit," he mused. "Glad to meet you, finally."

_New recruit? Interesting. I only remembered signing on to protect Giselle and that for a limited time. _

"Stef, we need to get Sky his knives. We've got injured."

"Who?" he asked, all business as he pivoted, walking sideway toward the house with a gracefulness that I, still working stiffness out of my muscles and lax from months of confinement, could only envy.

"Don't know, never seen them before. But one's been tortured."

Stef hissed through his teeth and his eyes narrowed. Then he whistled, shrill and high. The dog with us barked, as did dogs further away, back toward the village. I felt a sense of movement, of re-directed purpose, but saw nothing.

There was no one in the house when we went in. Stef pointed us toward a table with a good two dozen throwing blades and combat knives laid out on it. "Take your pick," he said, tousled Giselle's hair and left.

They had lovely knives, blacksteel and froststeel throwing blades, serviceable fighting daggers, and a few light swords. I made my selections, re-equipping while Giselle watched and asked questions about my choices.

Satisfied with the blades I'd chosen I asked her a question of my own. "Where do they keep the spare armor?"

"Ummmm," she hedged, apparently not certain whether she was allowed to say or not.

I dropped down on one knee – _ouch!_ – and looked her in the eye, trying not to be condescending and thinking I was failing at it anyway. "Giselle, I promised Great-Uncle I would protect you. I'll do that better if I've got something to slow down another person's blades. Besides, Stef thinks I'm the new recruit."

"But you aren't, are you, Sky?" she asked, giving me a measuring stare.

"Might help if I knew what I was being recruited for," I looked around the room, "though I'm beginning to get an idea. Great-Uncle and I are going to have some interesting conversations when he finally returns. Giselle, if you're willing to let me have blades, what difference does it make if I have armor?"

"Easier for you to pass," she whispered, suddenly very interested in her toes.

I understood what she meant. Chainmail is chainmail, but other armors, especially Horde and Ally leather armor, seldom look the same. "Little rogue, do you need to know why I was in Stormwind?"

She looked out at me from under her eyelashes and nodded.

I sat down on the floor, deliberately putting myself at a disadvantage. Having watched her this morning, I had no illusions I should treat her with any less respect than I would a journeyman in my own school. "I was drunk, Giselle, very, very drunk. And I was fishing. I wasn't there to kill anyone or steal anything, other than the fish. Some boys coming to fish saw me and set the guard on me."

She studied my face. "Truth?"

"Truth. May the Hangman take me if I speak a lie to you, Giselle."

She shivered and made the rogue's quick averting gesture of Death's shadow, then launched herself into my arms. "I was afraid you'd leave."

"I promised I'd protect you, and I make that promise to you now, too. I'm not going anywhere for awhile." I kissed her lightly on the forehead. Noble gestures, damn me, but I'd done it again.

She helped me find armor and find the leather punch to adjust the straps. Humans and sin'dorei are generally of a height, but humans are heavier, bulkier, and the armor needed tightened to fit me the way I wanted. Fitted, I secured my blades, explaining to Giselle where I put them and why.

"The masters don't let anyone watch them," she said. "They get annoyed."

"I know, mine did too," I smiled at our shared spying. "I want you to know where I keep my blades. Just in case."

She didn't ask in case of what and we headed back to the house, with minor detours taking me past a number of the shopkeepers. She didn't stop to talk, just waved or gave a short greeting, but she let them see me, and me, them.


	10. Conversation

**Rogue Magick, part 10**

by Rillan macDhai

Rough draft as of 5/8/10, copyright 2010 by Rillan macDhai, World of Warcraft setting and all that are not mine. Original characters are. Fan fiction, F-A-N fiction, just playing and this time, the play is turning nasty.

stuff inside these marks indicates rogue hand signs

At the House of Purple Hyacinths

Conversation

It was nice to be outside again, the day was warmer, and with my jerkin on, I was comfortable even in the shade. I just tagged along, helping with chores, but mostly watching. I might not be able to call shadows, but I could still hide, especially with Giselle double-checking to see if she could spot me. Once the dogs decided to leave me alone – I spent a nerved up few minutes when the entire pack came over to investigate the new person – hiding became much easier. When the scouts ghosted in for lunch, one at a time and explaining why all that extra food was being cooked, they didn't see me unless I was helping do something for the girl. Sometimes not then.

I knew this, because everyone who saw me came over for the obligatory sniffing at the new rogue. I met not quite half of Stef's team during the day and saw two others. I didn't see the gnome and wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

I also didn't see the wounded Ally with the suspicious eyes when Giselle and I finally caught lunch. After lunch, she pointedly told me, "I'm going to be working on my ponies inside. You can go take a nap or do stretches or whatever. I'll let you know before I go out again."

I decided to work off some of my tension by killing the dartboard. I was annoyed with myself for promising her I'd stay. I was also wound up about the Ally. It was not a good day to be a dartboard. I got the hint when the darts stopped sticking in the board and switched to my new throwing knives. That board took longer to destroy.

I found Grandmamma in the kitchen with Anna. "I'm sorry," I told her, adding the ruined wood to the pile just inside the door. "I've ruined your target boards."

"Heh," said Grandmamma. "There's more dartboards in storage and you can split off a slab from the firewood to replace the knife target."

I smiled at that and started out to the woodpile. "Bring in about half a dozen logs for the stove, would you?"

I bobbed her a half-bow and started out again.

"Oh, and Sky?"

I tilted an eyebrow at her from over my shoulder.

"Thank you for your help today."

I smiled, nodded, and ducked out before she could add anything more.

The major problem with chopping wood is that you can't hear anything approaching, while everyone else can hear you. The upside to this is you have a weapon in hand. This is only good if you are competent with the weapon, however.

Even though I only had to shear a couple of slabs from already split logs, it took me forever. I'm not an axe man, not with the hand hatchets and certainly not with a logger's two handed. Though I was trying to keep watch, Stef was suddenly just there, sitting on his heels while he watched me.

His eyes were almost as blue as my own and full of curiosity. "Are you a rogue or a hunter?" he asked.

"Rogue," I replied warily.

"Did your master not teach you how to call shadows then? You can hide, and hide well, but even an apprentice can bend sight in as much cover as you kept picking."

I could follow enough of what he said to understand, but I already didn't like the direction the conversation was going.

"I got hurt," I said shortly. "That's why I'm here."

His hair was the color of Firesworn's in my dreams, that borderline color not quite blonde, but not brown either. A wing of it fell across his face, deliberately I thought, as he tilted his head sideways, still studying me through his hair.

"Your Common is terrible," he said.

I put down the axe. "I know." Before I could give in to any temptation to pressured violence, I began picking up my slabs and split logs for the stoves.

He joined in, giving me a wry smile. "Now that we've both agreed not to put knives into the other for the moment, shall we go find Giselle? I think neither of us wants any more misunderstandings than can be avoided."

The white pack came through at that moment and saved me a reply as I tried to keep them from tripping me. And then Giselle came bounding out the kitchen door, a worried look on her face.

"Hi, Giselle," he called cheerfully. "We're not killing each other."

I saw his eyes flick to me, with a slight smile as though daring me to say 'yet.'

We dropped off the firewood and I took the target slabs to the common room, while Stef 'borrowed' Giselle from her chores for our chat. I heard him airily promising Grandmamma we'd both help finish them. I wondered if we'd both be alive to do it.

I didn't think Grandmamma would be too pleased with me if I went out to help feed the animals with a, "Oh, there's a dead man in my bedroom, could someone get him out of there, please?"

There was no one lurking in my room to ambush me. I know because I looked for them.

Stef watched me with amusement, but also a certain amount of wariness. I surprised him anyway by closing the distance between us, my hands pinning his so neither of us had access to our weapons. I couldn't shadowstep, but neither, apparently, could he. Before he could use his greater strength to counter me, I whispered in his ear, "Do anything to even remotely threaten Giselle and I will kill you. If, after we talk, you might want to try to kill me, we'll do it outside, away from the girl."

I sprang back across the room and waited to see what happened next.

The other rogue was shaking, whether from fear or rage, I couldn't tell. Giselle, her eyes wide, looked from one to the other of us. "Fight nice, guys," she said in a small voice.

"Oh, we are, Giselle. Sky was just letting me know the rules." Stef took the chair, huddling himself in it with his knees up to his chest. He looked like a man who had just seen Death and wasn't quite sure why he was still alive. His body language clearly said he had no intention of challenging my skills, not at the moment.

Eyes on me, he said, "I hardly think I need to ask this, but what rank are you?"

"I'm a master," I told him, "but in the army I was just a scout."

"But we don't – Oh, I'm an idiot." He looked at me, clearly flustered. We both knew the Alliance army didn't have Quel'dorei scouts, not since the fiasco in Silverpine

After a moment, he asked, "But am I a dead idiot?"

"I already told you the only reason I'd consider that," I replied, shrugging. "But I'm being careless too, I didn't need to mention that."

"But you – " he paused.

"Silver Covenant?" he tried again.

I laughed.

"Argent Crusade?"

I flinched. "I really wish Tirion hadn't used that name. I'd follow Tirion Fording down to Hell and, I expect, someday I'll do just that. But he is too honorable a man to have much close dealing with the likes of me or you."

"And the Ebon Blade keeps to its own," he mused. "You're not SI-7."

"You already know the answer to that. You're one of them yourself."

"Are we so obvious, then? Not going to mistake us for Defias?" He rested his chin on his knees, his face gone grim and worried, which, perversely, made him look that much younger

"No, but my circumstances have been," I thought about the word to use, "unusual, yes, very unusual. And I had all day to think about you, and this place, and our wounded guests downstairs."

"And what did you decide?"

"That this place which isn't an inn, but looks like one, would probably be a good safehouse for your agents and any other official travelers who might not want their traveling noticed." I really had to resist the urge to start playing with one of my knives. "What better place to stash me while they saw if I was going to live or die? Or to let me see what I might gain by joining you."

"So the new recruit isn't?"

That sounded a bit more like the banter Stef seemed comfortable with. I leaned against the wall, stroking Dream to keep my hands away from my knives. "The new recruit has never been asked. And the answer will probably be 'no.'"

"Sky," said Giselle, warning and worry in her voice.

"Great-Uncle didn't put any restrictions on what I'm allowed to do to protect you, little rogue. None. You know what I am, but do you understand what allowing me that choice means?"

"She might, but I certainly don't," said Stef.

I took a chance, hoping I was reading Stef right, and slid down the wall to the floor. "I don't want to fight you, Stef. I really don't want to fight anyone any time soon, I was starved for too long and my skills are all fucked up. I'm guessing at least part of your job is the same as mine, protecting Giselle. Can we just leave things at that?"

"I'm not sure," he answered me honestly enough. "Why are you here in the first place?"

"That should have been obvious."

"No, don't be deliberately dense." Dropping his feet to the floor, he leaned forward, gesturing, Look, idiot. "The old man told me you were here, told us all to avoid you until you either found us or Giselle brought you to us."

"And you did." I rested my head against the wall, knowing the day was catching up with me and my body missed its nap. "I didn't have a clue about anything until I finally made it downstairs and that was – Only yesterday? The day before? If I hadn't gone into the kitchen, I might still not have noticed."

I smiled at Giselle and the young human. "You have no idea how relieved I was to find out Grandmamma, Richelle and I weren't the only ones around to protect you."

"So that's why you're here? To protect Giselle?"

"Originally? No. Great-Uncle is probably trying to recruit me and was quick enough to exploit a weakness of mine. I let him do it. But I think you're asking, why am I here instead of in, say, Dalaran or Shattrath?"

He nodded.

I laughed again, longer this time. "The long version or the short one?"

"Ummm, I don't know?"

"The extremely short answer to that is, because of a drunken bet." I tilted my head at him, trying to get a better feeling for what I was dealing with, how much was his playing me to draw out information, how much was a young rogue in over his head.

"That's a little too short," he said, but he smiled and started to relax.

"Okay, slightly expanded version. I was very drunk, ended up in a place that was extremely bad for me and I got messed up. Dying-type messed up. Great-Uncle whatever-his-name-is found me, took pity on me for reasons of his own and brought me here. He didn't see fit to tell me why. I owed him a life-debt; he chose to make the payment of it guarding Giselle until I'm healed. I accepted the geas."

"So you're oath- _and_ magick-bound –"

"Yes." The other thing you should know, is, I'm not here to kill anyone. I really was just drunk and stupid.

His eyes widened slightly. Thought you were Dalaran Special Ops. "Sky! Damnit, tell me you're not a Hordey?"

"I don't know what I am, Stef, except that sometimes I'm too honest to be a rogue. My eyes, this isn't some disguise, the fel really isn't there, but it was, up until Great-Uncle rescued me."

"You're a blood elf." He sounded stunned and somewhat lost.

"I was." It was my turn to huddle into my knees and I took advantage of it. "Maybe I still am. I'm too tired to be talking to you. I'm starting to babble."

"You should go now, Stef," Giselle said, taking a defensive position between us.

"No, little rogue," I told her, "if I don't finish this now, it will probably end in blood. I don't want that.

"Bobby, I've spent all of my life running from the Alliance because of something stupid I had no part in. I've been to Outland and I know what Kael'thas did was terrible, but he was our prince. He was supposed to be trying to save us. I can never forgive him for the choice he made, but I've been to the ruins of Quel'Danas and I lived in Silvermoon. Most of the people there don't have a clue why our eyes all turned green, or why they spend so much time dwelling on revenge. They just know we're not dying as fast as we were without it. That the littles aren't dying or turning into Wretched as often as they were."

I hugged my knees, remembering my first time back in Silvermoon after joining the Scryers, how different the city had seemed to me. How I'd been sure every floating crystal would somehow report me as a traitor, the absolute certainty I had that Rommath would know me and do something terrible. It was the first time I'd felt more at home in Undercity than I did where I'd grown up.

"I'm young, I don't remember a time my eyes weren't green. I do remember how sick it made me feel when I realized the same taste was in the mana flows at home as were in the air the first time I stepped through the Dark Portal or how much stronger it was in Shadowmoon.

"And now my eyes are blue. And I can't go home again; they'd kill me for being for being a Silver Covenant spy or they'll turn me over to the magisters to try to figure out what happened to me, which would probably be worse than dying.

"This is the only refuge I have at the moment. And this is Giselle's home. And you are her teacher and, I think, her friend. Don't force me to make choices, especially not faction choices. Help me protect her and at least leave the hunt 'til later. And, if you can't trust me, at least trust Shaw or whoever Great-Uncle actually is, he must be connected with SI-7 somehow."

I yawned, completely off-guard, suddenly feeling everything I'd done in the past two days like a dragon's paw crushing me. For that moment, if he'd tried, he could have put a dagger into my brain and I wouldn't have attempted to dodge it.

But the moment passed and Giselle put her hand on my arm, urging me up. "Sky, go to bed!" she ordered. "I'll explain things to Stef, so his head stops spinning. You're not better yet and you told him and me a whole lot of things you probably shouldn't have. Go to sleep, I'll have Richelle bring you dinner later."

"But –"

"Bed!" she ordered.

"And Stef, don't you dare think about hurting him. I'm going to marry him someday. Or maybe Richelle will, she likes him too.

"You come with me. Besides, he thinks you're his friend Bobby, and that could get really weird."

Bobby -- or was he Stef? -- shared a puzzled glance with me as Giselle marched him out of the room.

I sort of remember leaning over the bed –


	11. Confrontation

**Rogue Magick, part 11** by Rillan macDhai

Rough draft as of 5/15/10, copyright 2010 by Rillan macDhai, World of Warcraft setting and all that are not mine. Original characters are. Fan fiction, F-A-N fiction, nasty, bloody, poison and death. Not for littles.

stuff inside these marks indicates rogue hand signs

Part 11: At the House of Purple Hyacinths 

Confrontation

It was dark and someone was in my room. It wasn't Richelle, she'd have lit the candles and besides, I knew her step. Normally, this would have geared me into a murderous state worthy of a goblin finding someone with their hand in the till. But I'd rather gotten used to people moving around me during the however many months I'd been in the Stockades and now here while I recovered. So, I didn't fling daggers as my first reaction. Instead, with silent apologies, I flung a cat.

And got the hell out, because one screaming angry flung cat apparently signaled the other two to the attack. I went up, bracing myself in a corner of wall and ceiling in the hall. My stalker came out lacerated with Black Tom clinging to his back and the other two doing their best to trip or hamstring him.

I'd noticed, while nothing could be heard in the hall if my door was closed, sounds behaved normally if it was open. In short order, Grandmamma, Stef and Richelle were all in the hallway, and two of the white wolf dogs had joined the melee in support of the cats. Good sense said to stay where I was, but I hadn't been listening to good sense since I'd gotten out of the Stockades, so why start? I dropped down into the hallway behind him.

"Some help here," the man was yelling. "There's a spy in the house."

Then, "Get it off! Get it off!" as Black Tom succeeded in reaching his head.

I lifted an eyebrow at the three on the other side, shrugged and waded into the fight. "Off! Cats! Hissst!" I removed Black, none to gently for his victim and tossed the big cat back into my room, getting a minimum of lacerations because I still had my leathers on.

Grandmamma called the dogs off and the other two cats had run when I tossed Black. They were still yowling at the doorway, but hadn't charged back into battle.

"How dare you break the peace in my home?" Grandmamma must have spent some time as a drill sergeant; she could produce a roar that would do an orc proud. I backed up, being careful to let the others see my empty hands. Black Tom yowled again and batted at my ankles, then apparently recognized me and started bunting my legs with his head. Or maybe he just liked the smell of blood.

"Spy," said the man on the floor, semi-incoherently, pointing back the hall at me.

"Pfaugh! That's no spy. You think Shaw would allow him to stay, that _I_ would allow him to be here, if he were a spy?"

The man had scrambled to his feet, trapped against the wall by Grandmamma, but trying to glare in my direction. "I'm telling you, that's Nightfrost, the blood elf who stole our battle standard, who wrecked the engines on the Vengeance, and took the battle plans from Valiance Keep."

_You're missing all the troop payments I intercepted or delayed,_ I thought, but for once I didn't offer that aloud.

"There's a thousand gold piece bounty on his head and in the King's name, I order you to capture him!"

"This is _my_ house, king's man," said Grandmamma in a deadly voice, poking the man in the chest. "Not even Varian orders me around in my own house and I'll thank you to remember that! Stef! Richelle! Help me get this idiot downstairs."

Grandmamma stepped back, confident in her authority, but the king's man was past reasoning. Stef and I both saw the green sap coating his blade, I moved faster. I took the man down as Stef knocked the angry woman out of the way. If I hadn't, he might have still stuck Grandmamma. He would certainly have hit Stef.

I put one of my lovely new blades into his throat and spine and into the floor and kept it there while he went limp under me and the light slowly left his eyes.

"Oh, crap," said Stef mildly.

I continued kneeling on the human, watching him die. "You know, I think they're really madder at me over that stupid flag than anything else."

"So, you are Nightfrost?"

"Right now? Yes." I looked at him and Grandmamma. "I'd rather go back to being Sky. Will you let me? More importantly, can you afford to let me?"

"I think it would be damn ungrateful to turn on you after you just saved our lives," Stef said.

He came over and carefully wrapped the poisoned dagger in a handkerchief and put it in a leather bag.

"Sky," said Richelle, having apparently made some decision about who she wanted me to be, though I couldn't read her expression. "Lift him a bit, I need to get this wrapped around his neck before there's more blood getting everywhere."

I left my dagger in the body until we had him stored in the cold cellar. Once we were done there we all gathered in the kitchen. I took a perch on the hearth, cleaning my blade and leathers, then setting to re-sharpening the dagger. Stef brewed tea while Richelle fussed over Grandmamma and Grandmamma relaxed and the dogs stretched out against the kitchen door.

Thank a rogue's luck; Giselle had slept through it all.

"Is this still the same day?" I finally asked.

"Actually, no," said Stef, handing me my mug. "You slept all the rest of the afternoon after we talked, last night and all of today. Richelle got some broth into you, but you weren't really awake. We'd just been talking about trying to wake you when all hell broke loose."

"That would explain things."

After I got back from the water closet – no, I don't know how it works, ask a goblin, or a gnome, and yes, I took my tea with me and dumped it out without drinking it – and pumped some water for myself, Grandmamma said, "Well, he wasn't the first to die in this house for doing something stupid, I doubt he'll be the last."

"How much trouble is my killing him likely to cause?"

"I'd say none, but I don't know what messages he might have sent off before he came here." She gave me a look. "I know he didn't get anything out since he recognized you, but he might have told his partner or stashed something in their gear."

"Good enough. I'll leave that to you then." I found a small cheese and a few of the little dark bread loaves and picked one at random, sliced it thin and toasted it on the hearth with cheese slices. I was hungry and edgy and wanted a bath and clean clothes. I'd had plenty of time sleeping in my gear already in my life.

Finished with my food, I stood, well aware they'd been watching me. I was tempted to invite Richelle to come with me . . . but that was one last trap waiting to shut. Great-Uncle, whether by luck or by planning, had found everything to draw a suddenly outcaste rogue, and I'd let myself go along with it. Giving in to my desire for Richelle would be the final strand in the net. And I wanted to, to just say the hell with the Horde and Silvermoon and all that and pretend I had a home here.

But it would only be pretense, I was sure of it. _Run,_ said rogue side of me. _Get to Booty Bay, send word to Firesworn and Bobby, the goblin post will find them for you. Even with the geas to pull you back, you can do that much._

I hadn't really been aware I'd left the kitchen until I found myself back in my room. My room was chill; my erst-while murderer had come in through the window. I latched the door, rolled my spare shirt, and went out onto the roof. It was cold and the slates were frosted and slippery. I slid across them like a cat, like a whisper of wind and let myself down off the roof.

"Leaving us?" asked Stef.

I didn't know where he was, so I just answered the night, "You know I can't. The geas will bring me back, but I need out, I need to run."

My senses were ratcheted high; I could feel the rough direction of the node and the flows of the ley lines. I heard Stef when he moved and that let my eyes find him. "I understand," he said, surprising me. "I can't be still after I've killed either."

"Run the night with me?" I asked

"Someone needs to, if only to make sure you don't freeze to death once you pass out."

Ah, trust someone to find the flaw in my plan. I handed Dream to him. "Keep her for me, in case I start doing something strange." Giving in to the madness dancing in my blood, I kissed the end of his nose, gave him a shove, and was gone.

I was faster. He knew the area. And I couldn't call shadows. It was an even match.


	12. Differences

**Rogue Magick, part 12** by Rillan macDhai

Rough draft as of 5/21/10, copyright 2010 by Rillan macDhai, World of Warcraft setting and all that are not mine. Original characters are. Fan fiction, F-A-N fiction

stuff inside these marks indicates rogue hand signs

I don't think Sky has specifically mentioned to Stef that he was in the Stockades until the end of this chapter. If you notice that I did it some place earlier, please let me know.

And big thanks to all my wonderful reviewers. I hope you continue to enjoy the story.

Part 12: At the House of Purple HyacinthsDifferences

We played rogue's tag for maybe an hour, a flurry of pulled blows and full-out running before we stopped, each with a better respect for the other's skills. We mutually flopped down on the bank of a stream, muddy, brush-burned, scratched, bruised, and laughing. He had a black eye. I had cuts on my neck. The clocktower's weathervane now resided on the guildhall's roof. A lovely potted nightshade from the alchemist's shop graced the second floor windowbox of the actual town inn.

We're both dead. How many times? laughed Stef.

You got me twice with your wire. I got you once with a dagger in the eye and once with a kidney shot. We're even.

Leg wound. I would have bled out. Three for you.

You're good.

You're better, without calling shadows. Teach?

I don't know. I sat up, shaking sticks out of my hair. Maybe. "Hand me Dream."

"You okay?"

Not taking more chances.

"Good." Bath?

"Belore, yes."

He led me back to the bathhouse.

There was no one in my bed when I finally crawled in the window, not even the cats.

This set a pattern for several weeks – not killing someone every night, no, but running the woods with Stef and sometimes during the day with Giselle. The townsfolk got over startling at my appearance and I learned more phrases in Common. It was a total immersion in the language in a way I'd not had learning Orcish and when I wasn't with Giselle it was getting to the point where I didn't know if I was speaking Thalassian or Common and my dreams were a jumble.

Great-Uncle remained gone and I was beginning to grow a little more than annoyed, but an occasional letter would appear for me, terse sentences such as _They're in Shattrath_. It was infuriating on many levels, but let me keep my patience. The headaches and a particularly strong flaring of my unwanted ability to create illusions that almost overcame Dream's shielding drove me back to the extra herbs in my tea. Giselle started crafting a dreamcatcher horse specifically for me, which led to long walks in search of certain herbs. Richelle often joined us and sometimes Grandmamma came as well, but just as likely, it would be me and Giselle and one or two of the white pack ranging around us. And I began to love the early summer woods of Elwynn.

Finally, after waking from a dream – near nightmare - of Firesworn and myself back in the Stockades without our other companions, I approached the older woman and asked, "Can I send a post?"

"That depends," she said.

"Great-Uncle has been good enough to let me know my friends are still alive, but I've nothing to know they have any clue what became of me."

"That man has never had any bit of good sense when it comes to matters of the heart," she said. "Always duty first. Write your letters, Sky. I'll have to read them, but I trust you'll be discreet."

I wasn't certain despite my dreams that the two I most wanted to reach would still be traveling together, so I wrote two notes.

The note to Bobby was simple, _I'm still alive, brother of my heart, I'll find you once I've finished a job. Look for weather out of season in Booty Bay at the end of summer. _ Giselle helped me print it out in Common, though I wasn't sure if Bobby could read or not. It was innocent enough he could take it to any scribe. I didn't leave my mark, but I knew he'd understand.

The one to Firesworn I dared write in Thalassian. But when I began it, I hardly could settle my mind onto anything coherent. Finally, I wrote, _I see you when I dream. I've taken geas for a job that needs doing, but I'll come to the inn in Booty Bay by summer's end though the Lich King bar my way. Find me if you will._ I wondered if it sounded too much like a lovestruck child, then decided I really didn't care.

Grandmamma took them from me. How they left our village I knew not, but I trusted her when she said they were sent. There was some dispute over my plans, mostly Bobby and I arguing over how I was going to get there. The biggest problem I saw was Giselle wanting to come along. Or whether my geas would allow me to get that far away from her.

The injured king's agent was healing slowly, not yet out of his room. From what I overheard, it seemed he didn't know how he'd gotten to us or that there had ever been anyone with him. I hoped that was true, but I wasn't willing to trust it.

Richelle was more subdued around me for a few days, but then she seemed to come to some understanding or conclusion and returned to her normal self. If anything, she became more flirtatious whenever she could catch me alone.

She was lovely and close at hand and apparently willing. It was starting to make me crazy. Finally, when she intercepted me for no good reason on my way to the bathhouse from a morning of cleaning the horse stalls in the barn, I had enough.

"Richelle, please woman. I am not a monk or a paladin. If you were married, you have to know what this is doing to me."

"I'd been beginning to wonder if you just don't like women that way."

"You would say that, after what almost happened in the bathhouse when I was still recovering? After we kissed in the hall?" I backed her against a tree, her eyes widening not quite in alarm. "It's not a matter of liking or wanting, my body knows what it wants. But like too much mana or mead, what it wants isn't always good for it. Or anyone else."

"I'm not Giselle, Sky. I'm old enough to know what I want as well," her voice was soft and rich. "I'm a rogue's daughter, my family have been rogues and alchemists in service to rogues for centuries and while that may not be long to an elf, it's always been part of my life. I know what you are and who you are and what you do. I'm not afraid."

"But I am," I admitted.

She looked at me, her eyes widening further. "You? Afraid?"

"What? You don't think I haven't spent a great deal of time here wondering when the trap is going to spring shut? I've fought in the Plaguelands and Outland and been less afraid than I've been every day since I stepped into Stormwind."

"You hide it well," she said.

I shook my head. "I'm not all that good at the game, but Sin'dorei can't afford to be weak, too many people are trying to kill us."

"And you can't afford to be in love with a woman of the Alliance?"

"You know the answer to that."

"I know enough to know that sounds like some scripted answer, not like you," she was impassioned and getting very angry. "I see your face when you're with Giselle, you drop all your masks then. Even when you're arguing with Stef, it's two friends working out the rough spots with each other, not two rogues in an uneasy partnership. And I've seen you look at me when you think I don't know you're around."

"Richelle, I –" My voice caught and I took a deep breath and tried to start again and just say what was in my mind. "I'm sure you're going to hit me for this, but, Richelle, you are beautiful and brave and practical, and not afraid to get your hands dirty, not at all like the vaporous, scheming, manipulative women back home."

"Vaporous," she said. "And scheming. Both? At the same time?"

"Have you ever heard them laugh?" I asked.

"So, I'm going to hit you for a compliment?"

"No, you're going to hit me for what I'm going to say now." No woman likes to be called a whore, even if she is a whore. "By chance or design, you are everything to catch my attention and interest. So, are you doing this because you genuinely are attracted to me or because it's your job?"

She turned white, then red and then she did hit me. She has a nasty punch. And she kicked me a few times for good measure while I was trying to get clear of her. "You! You, you stupid, stupid man, you!"

I retreated. My ribs weren't up for a full strength kick from that woman. She chased me. And then stomped around looking for me once I got out of her sight. Finally, she just stopped and stood still for several minutes.

She said something I couldn't here, then called softly, "Sky? Are you still here?"

"Maybe." I wasn't quite sure who I was being just then. I wasn't sure she heard me either, but I was in no mood to attract any of Stef's agents, if we hadn't already.

"Sky? Sky? I'm sorry. You had every right to ask, no reason to think this is more than another recruiting attempt." She walked further down the path. "I understand what you meant about waiting for a trap to shut. That isn't what I'm trying to do, I'm so sorry."

She didn't cry, but she looked like she wanted to, standing there, trying to figure out where I'd disappeared. "Are you even close enough to hear me?"

Before she left or had a crying fit, which was looking more possible by the moment, I came out from the tree I'd ducked behind. "I didn't run, Richelle. I just break too easily to let you kick me, even when I deserve it."

She started. "I walked right past you. Damn it."

She looked like she might kick me again, then shook it off, apologizing, "But you didn't deserve it; at least, not the kicking part. You don't have any reason to think better of me."

"I don't know how to get around this, Richelle. I like you. I'd also like to tumble you into the first soft patch of grass and explore every inch of you. And I'm afraid if I do, I'll never want to leave. I can't just betray everything I've known to you, for you, not without us having shared a lot more than just these few weeks."

"I'm not expecting you to marry me, Sky. I'm not expecting you to stay. And I'm certainly not expecting you to join us; I've seen you looking south with every sunset. When night falls, the only thing that holds you here is yourself. Just, nursing you, watching you recovering, seeing how gentle you are with Giselle, you reminded me of Peter and what we never got to have together. Is it wrong for me to want to grab a little of what I lost?"

"No," I brushed her face lightly with my hand. "No, I understand loss. But I don't do casual sex outside my own race, Richelle."

I put a finger across her lips, stopping her from speaking, realizing from her expression just how awful that must have sounded and trying to explain myself. "If I took you to my bed, it wouldn't just be for relieving an ache, or to comfort your pain. It would be to find out how much of forever I could share with you. And I can't do it, I don't belong here, and I won't do that to you. Or to any child we might create.

"Besides, I'm so wound up in lust with someone else I can't promise forever to you or anyone. Not until I've been turned away or we've bedded each other and it burns the want out of me or out of him, or it doesn't and that's where my forever is. And you, you deserve to be more than any man or any elf's second choice."

"You meant that," she said with certainty.

"I meant it. I mean it. If I were truly Quel'dorei instead of just looking like one perhaps I wouldn't be so hesitant . . . but that doesn't, it wouldn't change how I feel. Before I ever said anything to you, I should have known his answer or if it would ever work. I'm not sure what I do want."

"His," she said. "You're in love with a man?"

"I'm in lust with one, for my race these days that's almost the same thing. Sometimes. Sex isn't the taboo it was before the Sunwell blew up. Like you, we've lost so much we don't see the point in waiting or in worrying about who our lust or heart brings us. As long as we fulfill the Obligation to our kin, we're free to partner who we will."

"Obligation?"

"Silvermoon asks for two children from each of us, at least two."

"But if your lover is a man?"

"Then things get complicated. But it can be done."

"But – How do you have families or, or anything? How does anyone know who they're related to that way?"

I shrugged. "I don't know how they keep track of things, I just know they do. When a child's acknowledged, they can inherit any wealth or titles the parent who claims them might have held. Unacknowledged children can take the name if all the, mmm, what would be your word for it? Legitimate? I think that's it, seems like a strange word to use for a child. Anyway, they can take the name if all the legitimate holders are dead. There have been a number of clans where that's happened."

She thought about that for a while and then asked, "Do you have children?"

"Maybe one. But I've never had anyone contact me. Unless it happened after I was captured. No goblin post in prison. In my case, that was probably a good thing."

"I'm going to have to think about this, but thank you for telling me." She gave me one of her level brown stares. "I'm not sure I can get my head around a man possibly being a rival."

"It's just, just how we are, Richelle. We live long enough, well, we used to, that it takes a special relationship for us to commit to one another. Maybe you can explain how humans do these things. I really don't know your customs either."

"Maybe. I'll leave you to get your bath in peace." She gave my hand a squeeze and wandered off, roughly in the direction of the house.

Giselle came out of hiding on the bathhouse roof as I approached it. "So, you want to make love with a guy? That's kind of weird, Sky."

What can you say to something like that from a child? I sat down on the edge of the porch, trying to think it out for both of us. "He saved my life in prison, Giselle. We were the only two si – the only two elves in our cell block. We guarded each other, told each other stories about our lives, slept in each other's arms. Without him, without his magick, I would have died in there."

"But, you're going to marry him and not Richelle? Or me?"

"I don't know who I'm going to marry, or if I'll ever marry anyone."

"But, you've slept with him. You have to get married when you do that."

"Oh, I do, do I?"

She looked cross at me.

"Wait, are we talking about the same thing? Because even when I can understand the words, the meaning is still getting lost sometimes."

"You sleep with someone, you get married and have babies. Though I don't think men can do that. Even if he is a mage, I don't think he can grow a baby. Unless, he did it in a vat?"

Slowly, the light dawned, even for this dimmest of rogues.

"You are teasing me on that, right? No, babies are a woman's magick," I smiled. But I had an idea now of how to explain myself without needless detail. "Didn't you sleep over with Melinda last week in her bed? Does that mean you have to marry her?"

"No, we just talked and slept. Besides, Melinda likes Travie Baker."

"Well, when we were together in prison, all we did was sleep too, when we could. It was never safe to do anything else."

"Oh," she said, brightening considerably. "Okay, I understand now."

She twisted the toe of her shoe into the dirt and started boring a little hole.

"What's his name? Does he look like you?"

"He's taller than me. His hair is brown like Stef's, I think. We were both pretty dirty when we met. I think his eyes would be green, even without the fel . . . I wonder how badly hurt he was by getting us out of there. I'm so glad Great-Uncle's at least let me know he's still alive."

"It makes you happy, so I guess it makes me happy too, but you didn't tell me his name."

"I don't know his name. It isn't mine to share, Giselle. He called himself Firesworn, that's the only name I know."

She nodded. "You do that too, why don't you use your own name?"

I looked out across the farm to where the horizon was lost in trees again. "I'm not sure I can answer that, Giselle."

"Can you try?"

After a moment, I nodded. It still took me to a place I don't go and several minutes passed before I could try to answer.

"Sometimes, sometimes things happen that are so terrible and they hurt you so much, you can't be the person you were before the terrible thing happened. After the Sunwell was destroyed, I couldn't be the person I'd been anymore. I chose a new name for myself and wouldn't answer anyone unless they used it. Finally, even the matrons accepted I was Nightfrost. When I apprenticed with the Shadows, it made a perfect working name, even if everyone's first reaction to it was a night elf name."

"And your friend had that happen too?"

"I don't' know, from things he said, he was using that name when he was an apprentice in Dalaran.

Well, I need to go work on my ponies. I've almost got yours done."

"I've gotten attached to Dream."

"Yes, but she's not strong enough for you. We should be getting a package of herbs from Stormwind any day. Then I can finish. Besides, Dream really needs a bath."

I pulled the little white horse out of the sling she was currently residing in and inspected her. Her once pristine coat had suffered considerably over the weeks I'd spent at the House of Purple Hyacinths. "Well, she looks like a white horse who's been on campaign," I said and tucked her back into the sling.

I heard an odd creak from the roof and rolled back onto the porch just as Stef dropped down beside us.

"Dream isn't the only one who needs a bath," he said. He looked like he'd just finished one of our rougher games of rogue's tag.

"What happened to you?"

"Defias incursion. Can I get you to help me with my shoulder, Sky? I wrenched the hell out of it." His right arm was hanging at his side.

"That's more than just wrenched, Stef. I'm going to have to pop that back in for you.

Giselle came out of hiding, saying, "Can you show me how to do that? I might have to, someday."

We withdrew into the building and I got Stef out of his shoulder armor and chestpiece with a minimum of pain. Giselle brought him a towel to bite. I grabbed his wrist, put my other hand on his elbow to support it, pulled it out straight and twisted, back and out and up. Stef bit down on the towel, but he still yelped at the pain.

"Oh, damn that hurt," he moaned. He'd broken a cold sweat and his face was chalky white. "I've broken bones that didn't hurt as bad."

"You probably didn't tear as many things inside when you broke your bones either. I'm taking you to the healer."

"No, she working on the rest of my squad."

"Stef? How bad was it?" demanded Giselle. She was checking her weapons.

"They're dead, we're not."

"That good, eh?"

"I've had better mornings."

"Stef, put me on the rotation," I told him.

"Your job is protecting Giselle."

"Yes, but we've been playing rogues' tag almost every night. I've gotten my endurance back. And your people know me by now."

"You still can't call shadows."

"In the dark it won't matter."

"You're sure?"

"It's protecting Giselle." Lovely default, that. Let's me excuse all sorts of questionable behavior.

"Okay, just don't wear that red shirt of yours."

"That? It's wool, I haven't worn it for a week."

"I'm gonna go tell Richelle and Grandmamma."

"Be with you in a bit, little rogue."

"Giselle," said Stef, "call at least one of the dogs before you head to the house, okay?" Stay, he signed to me. Talk.

Her eyes widened as she looked back at us, then she nodded. "Aye, teacher," she said before leaving the room.

Stef began undoing the rest of his armor one-handed until I took over. "I'm not helpless, Sky."

"No, but you've done it for me often enough. And you wanted to talk?"

"You know Bobby Twoknives?"

"I see my letters went through more hands than the goblin post. Yes, I know Bobby, he was in prison with me."

"Two of the Alliance's most wanted? Should I drop by with a mana cake for Illidan?"

"Maybe. There's a lot of people still rotting in those cells."

"Bobby's a wickedly murderous little bastard, but from all the reports, he's always supported the Alliance. How did you ever team up with him?"

"Not a clue. He just adopted Firesworn and me, once I got dropped in there with them. Never explained why."

Stef yelped a little again as we eased his shirt off. "So, you've not specifically allied with the Defias?"

"So that's what this is about? No, Bobby's just a friend, we left faction politics and feuds out of it. Besides, Bobby had been spending time in Northrend. I think he'd actually been in the army from things he said."

"Mmm, okay." He looked thoughtful and pained. "Could you dump a bucket of hot water over me."

"Actually, we should get something cold on that arm, if you aren't going to the healer."

"I know. I'm just nasty with sweat and blood."

"Okay." I got a bucket and sluiced him down, then left him to finish whatever cleaning he was going to do and crawled into a tub myself to give him some privacy.

I could hear him splashing and clattering around before he finally climbed into a tub.

"How did you get the flag off our airship?" he asked after a few minutes of silence.

I gave him a sidelong look. "Trade secret."

He glared at me.

"Okay. I have a friend who's a death knight. He has a flying mount."

I frowned, remembering he was also the one who'd helped me get into Stormwind. "And absolutely no sense. Of fear or anything else."

"So, he got you there? How did you get past the sentries?"

"He flew me close enough. I jumped."

"Jumped?

"It's not like it isn't a big target or that it dodges around. It's easier to get onto your zepp that way than . . . than the other one. The trick was landing where I wanted to and not in the middle of the sentries. Or one of the engines. With all the dragons around, you'd think people would look up more often, but they don't."

"And you jumped back off once you had the flag?" he sounded like he really didn't want to hear me say yes to his question.

"Exactly."

"And you said the death knight had no sense."

"He doesn't. He's the one who caught me. We damn near knocked his flying bonepile out of the sky."

"Were you drunk?"

"Actually, no. I'd have never gotten the timing right otherwise." I smiled. "But I was marvelously drunk when I came up with the idea."

"Right," said Stef. "Remind me not to let you drink."

"Remind me not to let me drink, though the Stockades may have cured me of that."

"You were in the Stockades? I'd thought you were in one of the others."

"My condition when you met me was due to the lovely accommodations and fine dining to be found there. That and the fun I had checking out."

"But they –"

"Didn't have a clue who I was. I was just some drunken bastard they'd caught fishing. They were going to hang me, they just didn't know all the reasons they had to do it."

"Well then. That at least explains what Bobby was doing there. The Stockades is where we put all the Defias we capture."


	13. Interlude: Northrend

**Interlude**

**Escape and Redemption or Something Like It: Northrend**

By Rillan macDhai

We now take a sidestep from our regularly scheduled update to introduce another player in the game. May have to move this to M for bad language, but there's no sex in this section. If you want to risk it, Vendel'o Eranu Belore will give you more information on why this is here, but that story is definitely in M for a reason. If you read it and are offended, remember, you were warned.

* * *

Northrend, Ice Crown Citadel

"That … fucking … hurt. I . . . fucking . . . hate . . . feral druids. And shaman and . . . oh . . . well. That explains where they went." The San'layn Blood Prince Taldaram had rolled over while he was talking and looked first at his own body and then up at what should have been the ceiling of the Crimson Hall. Instead, all he could see above him was a swirl of grey clouds, threatening to pull him in.

Hastily turning his eyes away from what was too much like staring up into a forming tornado while standing underneath it, he surveyed the room to see if anyone else was around. Across the grey on shades of grey on grey room, Valanar was hugging his brother and trying to help him get up. Their physical bodies, like his, lay broken on the floor.

"Why bother?" asked Keleseth. "Why can't we just lay here until Lana'thel or Arthas come to pull us back?" Kel looked at the ceiling too. "I wonder if there's light beyond those clouds."

Valanar shook his brother gently and pulled his head against his chest. "Don't look up, Kel. Stay with me, we'll be okay."

Their feud momentarily put aside, Tal told the brothers, "I'm going to check on Lana'thel. Keep him focused on you, Val."

Keeping his eyes firmly down to avoid seeing that sick-making sky, he went searching for the Blood Queen.

He found her standing watching the living loot her room and body. Several of the enemy dead were clustered in a tight, defensive group, waiting to see if their healers or the Lich King found them first.

"Hello, Talindor," she said. "I'm surprised you're still here."

He flinched, as he always did when someone used the name he'd had while still living. There were far too many memories bound up with that name.

Then he noticed she didn't look the same, she looked – She looked like she had before Arthas had taken her, like a beautiful high elven woman untouched by the Scourge. She turned her gaze to the swirling sky. "He's too busy to be watching us, Tal. Go, if you're going. I'm going to see if I can make it to Thalorien this time."

"Good fortune, my lady," he wished her, a smile lighting his face.

Trotting back through the Crimson Hall, he told the brothers, "Time to go, while He's occupied."

"He's just going to drag you back," Valanar told him.

Talindor Brightblade's smile widened, still wicked, but easier than any he'd allowed himself as Taldaram. "I admit he might, but I'm going to make him work for it." With a laugh, he threw himself into a run, ghostly feet soundless in the now grey halls.

The citadel might have been empty except an occasional ghost like himself, running somewhere. Finally, he broke into open air on the very causeway the Argents had established one of their footholds on. In the form he was in, he couldn't detect the living without pausing to concentrate, but he could see their works. Orienting himself by those and the outline of the peaks that jutted up through the glacier, he found south and a steep slope leading down to Wintergrasp Fortress. It would have been an almost certainly fatal fall for the living, minorly painful if he'd still had his body. As a spirit, he simply threw himself over the edge with a certain glee and let gravity do the rest. In short order he found himself following the road toward the Western Bridge.

So far there was no voice in his head commanding him to return. Humming the first few bars of "The Bastard King of Stormwind" to himself, he continued through the white-grey landscape.

From the Westspark Workshop, he took to the woods and after crossing a bit of country found himself again on cliffs, this time looking out at Valanar's one-time stronghold of Naxxanar, the Temple City of En'kilah spread out below him. With a wry smile, he stepped over the edge of the cliff.

Minor Scourge still lurked in the ruins, but those were no real danger and easy to avoid. Within minutes he had cleared the gates and was racing through the Flood Plains.

There was no real sense of time passing, just movement and a worry he would suddenly come up short, like a dog hitting the end of a chain. It had happened before, when he'd finally been overwhelmed by a group of adventurers in Ahn'kahet, only to be forcibly returned, further bound in undeath in the Citadel by a very annoyed Lich King.

He didn't want to dwell on what his punishment would be for this latest failure, if one of Arthas' other high command turned the intruders back. Instead, he wished his killers the best of luck and continued south as fast as he could manage. Not that he thought they'd actually succeed, but if they did enough damage, it would take Arthas longer to notice one of his San'layn had pulled a Mograine and scampered off.

Highlord Darion Mograine, now there was a human he'd never thought he'd have any sympathy for, but as he attempted to make his own escape, he could imagine the thoughts that had to trouble the Ebon Blade leader when there was nothing else to distract him.

The geysers of the Flood Plains were painfully bright and he avoided the pools simply because he was uncertain if he might fall into one of those bubbling holes or not. He knew what things lurked beneath the ground in Northrend and wanted nothing to do with any of them.

Along the coast there were more bright spots he had to avoid, Kalu'ak shrines to their elders, who could see him as easily as he saw them. But while they watched with interest none moved to interfere with his flight. He gave a wide berth to the crazy holy man between Kaskala and Unu'pe and to the Kvaldir who still threatened the coast. He had never cared for those piles of animated seaweed and had no desire to attracted their notice.

The major danger, as he saw it, were the dragons of the red flight and the free roaming death knights of both the Horde and Alliance. He did not particularly want to encounter someone like Thassarian who had been Valanar's downfall at Naxxanar. If he hugged the coast, he might at least avoid the dragons. It was impossible to tell where a death knight might be at any given time, he could only trust to fickle luck if he wanted to make any speed.

Weighted against Arthas' temper, he preferred taking his chances, though once he came to the edge of the Abandoned Reach, he kept close to what cover the cliffside might provide him. It also gave his eyes something to watch, to keep them from the oppressive draw of the swirling sky above.

At last he detected the sweep of the beam from Farshire's lighthouse and sometime after that, picked his way across the wash to Valiance Keep. Slipping through the Alliance's town, he kept to every bit of cover he could find, watching for warlocks' pets and stray death knights until he could reach the docks. Fate was kind; a supply ship was in port. He could have reached Warsong Hold with a bit more travel, but he feared trying to take the zeppelins that supplied the hold, distrusting anything that put him closer to the grey clouds whirling overhead.

Having reached his first goal, he focused on seeing where the living actually were, the better to avoid encounters with something or someone who might detect him. And he rested, aware he was going to need all his concentration to stay with the ship when it sailed. He was not eager to try walking across the waves to his former homeland, but at least on the sea he might find his way there if he couldn't stay with the ship.

The Dark Portal beckoned. In Outland he might escape Arthas' summons, perhaps even find a body he could possess.

And somewhere beyond the world gate, he might find his lover and his child.

It was a faint and tenuous possibility. But it was also a hope in whatever was left of his soul.


	14. You've Got Mail

**Rogue Magick, part 13** by Rillan macDhai

Rough draft as of 5/22/10, copyright 2010 by Rillan macDhai, World of Warcraft setting and all that are not mine. Original characters are. Fan fiction, F-A-N fiction, just applaud, you aren't allowed to throw money ;-P

Big thanks to all my wonderful reviewers. I hope you continue to enjoy the story. Don't be afraid to ask questions or point out inconsistencies

* * *

Part 13: Shattrath, Outland

"Hello, Matron Mercy. How are the younglings?"

"Magus Firesworn, it be good seein' ya, mon. The children, they be doin' good."

He handed her a leather pouch and a box marked with a distinctive red cross. "You have credit for supplies with the merchants."

"And what's this bein'?"

"Extra. I know you always need extra, something always happens."

"Thank ya, mon. Light bless you. Will you come in?"

Firesworn's eyes had a longing in them, but though he glanced wistfully into the orphanage, he shook his head.

"There be two girls would be glad to see their father and guardian."

"And he would be glad to see them, but I've one more lost one to bring home first." He took the troll woman's hand and lightly kissed it.

She put her other hand on his shoulder and gave him a hug. "Don't you be getting' lost yourself."

He leaned into the comfort of her for a moment before pulling away. "Thank you, Matron. I hope to be back in less than a week."

"Good huntin', mon."

Starting off again, he noticed Bobby waving from outside the World's End tavern.

"Letter!" yelled Bobby. "Check your mail!" The human rogue was actually jumping up and down with excitement

"What?" asked the mage, having warped space with a Blink spell to get closer.

"Our missing friend finally wrote. Check your mail, mage."

But Firesworn was already at the mailbox before Bobby had finished speaking.

He flicked through several notes from his regular correspondents before finding one with a simple unembellished wax seal. He looked up at Bobby, who was grinning like a madman.

"I'm going to need a drink for this, aren't I?" the mage asked.

"Just open the damn letter," said the rogue.

The sin'dorei mage shook his head and practically fled into the tavern, heading to his favorite table in the back, near the renegade demon engineer where no one else ever willingly sat, unless the place was packed. "Brandy," he ordered as he passed the bar. Knowing Bobby had followed him inside, he added, "For two."

"Are you going to open it, or just enshrine it as is?" the young human asked, practically dancing a jig.

"What did yours say?"

"Not tellin', not 'til you've read yours."

"Then sit down and drink your brandy. Moocher."

"Hey, you bought it."

Firesworn removed a penknife from his sleeve and broke the seal, ignoring Bobby's fidgeting. Three short lines, in roughly penned Thalassian, almost poetic, one strand of hair, black gone to reddish brown at its root. One not-quite invitation, explanation, and question all rolled together.

The mage sat there staring at the letter, rereading it. Then he carefully picked up the hair, curling it into a circle, twisting the strand over and around itself to form a fragile ring, which he then dropped into a tiny vial. Both vial and refolded letter were then placed inside the bleached-white Sunfury officer's jacket he wore.

"We were going to start looking for him there anyway," he said to the rogue. Lifting his brandy, he toasted cheerfully, "To absent friends, may we soon be reunited."

"To absent friends," agreed Bobby and clinked his own snifter against the other.

* * *

The next morning, the two friends were ready to go, equipment had been gathered, goodbyes said. Firesworn was wearing his bleached-white uniform, mageblade at his side. Bobby was a contrasting shadow in dark cottons and leathers. Both had bags and pouches and saddlebags of gear they didn't wish to entrust to the goblin post.

"I'll see you at the Stair," Bobby said, adjusting gear on his rented griffon before mounting.

"Be careful," said Firesworn, scratching the base of his wyvern's ears.

The young human only smiled and spun one of his daggers in a glittering arc before returning it to its sheathe, then he clicked to the griffon and gave it a nudge with his heels.

The beast gathered itself and jumped upward with a down sweep of huge wings. The wyvern growled and Firesworn laughed. "Get the big bird," he encouraged the flying cat, fingers twined in its mane.

Once his mount had launched itself into the air above Terrokar and was settled into a good cruising height, Bobby only slightly maintaining a lead over them, the mage pulled the letter he'd tried to send the night before from an inner pocket.

'Cannot Be Delivered' was stamped across the envelope in red ink

He growled softly, replaced it and drew out the other, the one he'd received despite the fact it should have been equally undeliverable – the goblins only sent through cross-faction correspondence at the highest levels.

"Just who _are_ you doing a job for, my friend?" he asked the letter, eyes again scanning the words he'd already committed to memory.

* * *

He didn't see Bobby on the Stair, but the rogue's amused voice greeted him. Once they'd stepped through the towering portal, the human was visible again, both of them pausing to survey the Blasted Lands and the Argents' warcamp.

Though demonic incursions rarely made it through the gateway, a combat division was maintained there, mostly serving as a rotation point, but ready to fight with no notice. The sentries stood down and the two mismatched friends went to bargain for mounts with the Argents' stable master.


	15. Escape: the Eastern Kingdoms

**Rogue Magick, part 14** by Rillan macDhai

Rough draft as of 5/24/10, copyright 2010 by Rillan macDhai, World of Warcraft setting and all that are not mine. Original characters are. Fan fiction, F-A-N fiction, just applaud, you aren't allowed to throw money ;-P

Big thanks to all my wonderful reviewers. I hope you continue to enjoy the story. Don't be afraid to ask questions or point out inconsistencies, I need the help

The story "For _All_ the Fallen" takes place at the end of this section in the timeline.

* * *

Part 14: End Games

Escape and Redemption or Something Like It: the Eastern Kingdoms

Talindor had thought Arthas would surely summon him back before the ship sailed, but as the tide turned and the ship slid out of dock, there had still been no angry voice in his head. He wondered if the free-willed death knights of the Ebon Blade had that worry as well or if whatever force had help them snap Arthas' control continued to protect them.

He had no illusions he had any such protection. The Lich King would most likely feed him to Frostmourne this time.

But the ship left the shores and icebergs and penguins of Northrend and there was only the painfully bright water and the ship and her crew and passengers. And one ghost of a Darkfallen, trying to ignore the swirling grey sky and stay close to the living spirits around him.

The worst time came, not with any imperious demands from the north, but as they skirted the edge of the great Maelstrom. Aware of a terrible power somewhere in the deep Tal hid himself in the dreams of a shadow priestess. The threat of something ancient and angry in the depths reminded him of Yogg'Saron and the Lich King both, but it did not have quite the feel of either one. He felt moderately safe until the woman woke screaming and threw herself over the rail, almost taking him with her.

The rest of that day was miserable and nerve-racking, but his awareness of the horror in the depths slowly receded. And still the summons didn't come. He wondered if Lana'thel had escaped, and if by doing so, she'd somehow broken Arthas' link to him. She had been the one to raise him, but he hesitated to hope his continued freedom could be traced to her own.

Away from Ice Crown, away from all the duties and annoyances that had filled his undeath, he found it harder to concentrate, easier to slip into the edges of daydreams. He worried his focus would slip and he'd find himself standing on that too bright water, with no idea which way to go to find the shore. Any shore. But he hung on and after some timeless passage through the greyness; the ship arrived in Stormwind Harbor. He'd never thought he'd be so glad to see the humans' capital.

Entering the city was not that difficult, but once again he went slowly, half just to enjoy something else in his vision beyond the confines of the ship. But he was also being careful, trying to avoid blundering into someone who could see him or places of power that might be dangerous to him. He soon determined there were two, perhaps three of these lying close to the harbor. The strange double-signature felt of the arcane, while flanking that was a strong holy presence he was simply afraid to approach in his current form. It seemed to promise peace, but he wasn't convinced it was peace he was seeking. Outland still seemed a better option.

One thing he did discover fairly quickly was that while the death knights' mounts had no trouble seeing and avoiding or sometimes spooking at him, just as a normal horse might shy from something in its path, their riders didn't seem any more aware of him than the normal people of the city, as long as he didn't linger near them too long. For him, the death knights were simply easier to see.

It was by following one who was just leisurely walking his mount that he finally found his way across the city to the Valley of Heroes and the bridge leading to Elwynn Forest. Once he was out of the city proper and on the road to Goldshire, he paused, trying to remember the maps of the Eastern Kingdoms. The Dark Portal should lie to the south and east, but he might have to follow the roads to find his way through for there were mage towers and plagued areas full of undead, which, if not under the immediate sway of the Lich King, still had controllers he wasn't certain he wanted to approach in his current form, more to avoid any notice by Arthas than from any real worry about them.

He would also have to find a way to avoid getting too close to Karazhan. That place had already trapped or destroyed one San'layn prince and while he'd considered himself more powerful than Tenris Mirkblood while still in possession of his body, he wasn't anxious to approach Medivh's cursed tower as a ghost

But as he was picking a path through the eastern edges of Darkshire he felt something faint yet familiar. Something not of Arthas nor of the Blood Queen. This was a tether of his own weaving. Somewhere south of the line he was traveling, faint, a link he could feel even in his current ghostly form.

One of his servants was also traveling in the Eastern Kingdoms.

But who could it be? None of his agents had ever been deemed important enough to travel to the southern lands.

Then he knew, with sudden blood hot fury and utter, paralyzed terror.

There was only one person it could be, the one person he'd sent from him with orders to go to Outland and never return.

_Firesworn. _

He made the name a curse, a plea.

And threw himself southward with all the speed he could manage.


	16. End Games:  Nightfrost

**Rogue Magick, part 15**

by Rillan macDhai

Rough draft as of 5/26/10, copyright 2010 by Rillan macDhai, World of Warcraft setting and all that are not mine. Original characters are, Taldaram/Talindor seems to think he is, but he's not in this section.

Big thanks to all my wonderful reviewers. I hope you continue to enjoy the story. Don't be afraid to ask questions or point out inconsistencies, I need the help, so read and review and encourage me to write more and remember you can send me email if there isn't enough room in the review box. This part of the story is done with this chapter. I've got a note out to Blizzard and we'll see what happens next. I do have more story to tell.

* * *

Part 15: End Games: Nightfrost

Since Stef had worked me into the rotation, I'd been keeping more of an eye on the town than I had been. Giselle was at her morning classes, and I was just loitering when I noticed a stranger in town giving the fruit seller trouble. She was just setting out her baskets when the man approached her and decided to see if she was selling more than fruit. I soft-footed up on him while she was busy telling him she decidedly was not interested in selling her virtue to some grabby-handed bearded behemoth. That's paraphrasing a bit.

I didn't want to kill him – yet - so I grabbed the man's hand in a come-along hold and pressed, hard, driving him to his knees with the unexpected pain.

"Hi," I said, pulling his head up with my free hand and grinding the bones together with my other to keep his attention focused on me. "Now, you are going to leave and next time you feel like putting your hands on someone remember it isn't only the guard you'll have to be watching. Because I will gut you and stake you out for the river murlocs, and throw your liver to said murlocs to get their attention, if you try this again." I'm not sure he understood everything I said, but he seemed to get the gist of it.

I slammed his head down, gave his hand a particularly strong squeeze, and let go, jumping straight up and catching a branch. It would have worked better if I'd had flash powder, but I was into the tree before he was back on his feet. "You little rat bastard!" he yelled, looking around wildly for me, the apple girl forgotten. "I'll rip your throat out."

"Don't think you'll be ripping anyone's throat out today," said the shopkeeper from across the street. He was approaching with several others, all armed, all very much not amused.

Which wouldn't have been bad, except big and ugly had brought friends. They'd apparently come in like a normal trading group. They were spread throughout the town. I put one of my throwing knives into the man's back when he drew a short blade on the shopkeepers, dropped out of the tree, and put my fighting daggers into his kidneys. That was one down.

Whistles were sounding throughout the village. I hadn't been let in on their code yet, but I could tell Stef's people were gathering. I sprinted to the church.

The doors were already barred. I nodded approval, went checking the other entrances and found a man trying to strike alight a torch. He wasn't anyone I knew, so I put a knife across his throat and left him bleeding out on the street.

I went hunting. If I couldn't call shadows, I at least knew how to move and use cover. The enemy had spread out through the town, but apparently their intelligence hadn't been that good. They certainly hadn't expected the level of preparedness the villagers were displaying. They also didn't seem to have expected Stef's team. Or me.

I could see their rogues.

Their attempts at backstabs ended badly for them.

We lost our old apothecary and one of the tavern girls at the inn. And they started a couple of fires, one of which was too far along for us to put out by the time the fighting ended.

None of them got away.

By the time we'd put out the smaller fire and kept the second from spreading to the nearby houses it was dark. By the time we'd settled the burned-out family into the inn, checked our wounded, buried our dead, and begun clearing the rubble for a new house, the townsfolk considered me one of them.

And by the time we were done interrogating our prisoners, the SI-7 agents thought I was one of them. Only Stef knew better.

Still, it was with a very confused mind that I finally started back to the House of Purple Hyacinths.

I came inside to an odd silence, like people had just been speaking and everyone now waited with hushed breath. I stepped into the dinning room to find it full of people. Firesworn and Bobby and the Warchief Thrall and others I didn't know standing peacefully there, apparently having just been talking with Grandmamma and Richelle as though they known them forever.

"Nightfrost," said Firesworn. "Your eyes are blue."

His were still the color of emeralds, but the look he gave me said it didn't matter. The King of Stormwind could have been there and Firesworn wouldn't have noticed. I didn't think I would have noticed either. He was wearing a white uniform, with trousers, not those silly impractical mage robes, and his hair was the ashy brown going to blond I'd thought it might be, and I only wanted to get him alone somewhere . . .

Then the door opened again and the Lady Mage of Theramore and the King of Stormwind walked into the room next to me, and actually startled us all.

"What are you doing here?" the humans' leader demanded, going stiff with shock.

I'd expected the challenge to be directed at the Warchief, but instead it was Bobby Twoknives the king of Stormwind was glaring murder at, a hand already on the hilt of his sword.

Bobby looked well and truly surprised. "Oh! Crap, it is you. Hi, Lo'gosh," he said in an odd, mild voice.

"Defias scum! Traitors!" growled the man and went for him, sword shinging out of its sheathe, the human mage shoved back and to one side in the same motion. She fell, whatever spell she'd been starting completely disrupted.

Firesworn stepped between the king and Bobby, mage shields flaring as he parried one glancing blow with his sword. The human hadn't been trying to hit him with that swing, but I saw him redirect the follow-up blow.

"Damnit it, Varian Wrynn! No!" I screamed and somehow shadowstepped between them, into the returning sword strike and grabbed his hand with both of mine to keep the blade trapped. Damn, but it hurt, it felt like a goblin grenade going off in my head. The only good thing about it was I couldn't feel the sword in my chest. I tried only to hold Varian's gaze and his sword hand and keep him from wrenching it loose.

Giselle screamed, but I couldn't comfort her this time. I held all of them in that moment of shock and just yelled the first things that came to mind, "We have more important foes to fight! I was _there_; I'll show you all what happened! _If it kills me, I'll show you!" _

This time, I knew it probably would. I just prayed to whoever felt like answering Firesworn could cast a portal and get both of them out of there before the crazed former gladiator shook me off his sword like so much shredded meat. And take Thrall and whoever else of ours was there with them.

This time I deliberately pulled the memories. I didn't know what reports any of them had from the Wrathgate. I didn't care, it was the only thing I could think of to pull Stormwind's king out of his killing fury.

I put it all there, everything I had seen and heard and felt from the moments just as we Horde scouts joined the Alliance troops against the Scourge as Bolvar Fordragon's challenge rang out. The orc horns and Saurfang the Younger, all interwove with my own personal attempt to stay alive. And somewhere in the fighting, finally explaining at least in part why he'd attached himself to Firesworn and I, Bobby Twoknives, dressed as an Alliance scout, was in a losing battle with two ghouls over the body of a fallen Ally officer. He'd flashed me his bright mad smile of greeting when I'd backstabbed the one and we both turned on the other. I'd helped him lift his officer into a carry hold before turning back to the battle myself and I didn't see him again.

The rest of the battle was a dance of horrors, broken only by the lull when Arthas stepped out to face us.

I was just close enough to hear it, and catch some glimpses, all of us held by that tableau, Arthas, young Saurfang, and Bolvar Fordragon. The battle rejoined. And that runesword chilling us all as Saurfang's sword was sheared through and Frostmourne drank in his sprit.

Fordragon's defiance, shaking us out of our shock.

Then that awful, mocking voice.

And what came after. Green death everywhere. Even the terrible wrenching leap I'd made to Wrymrest Temple, gone to the only aid I dared trust, the dragons of the Red Flight. "_Alexstrazsa, help us, the Wrathgate . . . _How I'd done it escaped me, but I was certain I could trace the damage I'd done myself warping shadow to that moment. I didn't remember what had happened next, but it didn't matter. I was done.

Strength had come to me, part way through, strength enough to let me share my horrors, but it was getting harder and harder to breath and I wasn't sure I could feel the human king's hand beneath my own any more.

A voice, a voice I didn't know, but warm with concern, said, _You can let go now, young rogue. He's seen, we've all seen, and he understands truly at last. Those you would protect are safe._

So, I'd succeeded then. It wasn't what I'd wanted, but it was more than I'd hoped for. Safe. They were safe. I could let go now.

I did and fell off the sword. One terrible, bubbling breath seared my lungs like freezing water and fire, like dragons' breath. One face to focus on, an anchor to ground me. I felt him channeling mana to me, but the pain and need to breathe were pushing it all away.

"Beloved," I managed to gag out, mouth full of blood; free at least to use the one term I'd never called him. "Burn my . . . body . . . to ash." The one plea of any of us who'd spent time in the Plaguelands, for fear of rising, for fear infection still lurked dormant within us.

_I love you, Firesworn. Goodbye. _

Then there was only blood like water and fire in my lungs and everywhere until the shadows took me home.

* * *

End Part One of Rogue Magick

Rough draft finished 12:18 am, May 26, 2010


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